The All-Stars
by jespah
Summary: New beginnings: for a woman w/over half of her adult life stolen; her cousin: a new job & challenges. A new life for a young man w/few plans & no real direction. A chance for 3 women to change their lives. But a secret project by Section 31 threatened to break a treaty & could open a portal to another universe while someone out there, with unknown intentions, was trying to get in.
1. 1-The Cookie

**Chapter 1 – The Cookie**

"She's a good ship."

"I dunno," The customer, a human female, had a skeptical tone in her voice.

"I have," the merchant replied softly, "certain purchase incentives." He was a Kreetassan, and he glanced around furtively, even though they were alone.

"Incentives?"

"Yes," was the reply, "Follow me."

The merchant led the human to the back of a ship that was designed to hold no more than, perhaps, sixty people. " _This_." It was a lot like a joystick, with a few displays around it. At that moment, it was down and it appeared to be off.

"And this is?"

"Watch." The merchant flipped a switch and the area hummed. He pulled up the joystick and rotated it. "Now watch this display."

There were grid lines and coordinates – it was clearly an image of the immediate area in space. There were also red dots all over it, and the red dots were moving. A number, in red, changed, incrementing up or down by one or two or so. "What am I looking for?"

"This display shows all ships in the area, within sensor range. It also tells you how many are currently detecting this ship. Red is for mutual detection."

"There's a number forty-seven in red."

"Yes," the merchant confirmed, "that is the number of vessels with mutual detection. Now, keep watching the display." Another switch was flipped, and the joystick was again rotated.

As the human female watched, the display changed. First it showed forty-five in red and the number two in green. "What does the green mean?" she asked.

"It means there are now two ships within sensor range that you can detect, but they cannot detect you." There was another flipped switch, another rotation of the joystick. "Now what do you see?"

"Eighteen red, thirty-one green. Huh, I think the total is off."

"It is not. Two more ships have arrived here at the Perseus Trading Post."

"I see. What have you been demonstrating? It's not a cloak, er, is it?"

"No," replied the merchant. "It is an ionization diffuser." Another switch was flipped, and the display again changed. This time there was a fourteen in red, a four in blue and a thirty in green.

"What does the blue mean? And, uh, aren't ionization diffusers illegal?" the customer inquired.

"Not everywhere." A pause as the display adjusted, instead, to five in blue as the other two colored numbers remained constant.

"The blue?"

"Ah, yes, the blue means that not only are those ships unable to detect you, but you have the power to extend the diffusive field over them."

"I don't understand why I'd want to do that," the customer admitted.

"The extension of the field enables you to alter those ships' sensor images to the other vessels in the area. The correct images then can either be hidden completely or projected elsewhere."

"Oh?" she inquired.

"Say you have a less than pleasant encounter with five Borg cubes. Use the diffuser and you are, perhaps, hidden from one of them. Adjust the setting and you can convince the other four that the first one is, instead, a Klingon Bird of Prey. Or you can convince the other four cubes that the first one is you, and that you are the fifth cube. The other four then turn their weapons on the first cube, yes?"

"And I do the same trick on another cube, and so on, or maybe even get a second one under my spell and they duke it out while I go hide behind some moon or something, eh?"

"Precisely. Now, let me show you Engineering."

They walked together, and took a lift down. "Engineering," explained the merchant "is here on the bottom level. Living quarters are here as well, along with the shuttle launch bays. The middle level contains Sick Bay, a mess hall and the Armory. There are cargo bays there as well. The top level is the Bridge, recreation and observation, mainly."

"I'm no explorer," she pointed out.

"There are star charts, a database and a command and control center. There are also more common areas. Ah, here we are." Engineering was rather warm.

"Is it always this hot?" she asked, fanning herself.

"It is. The excess heat powers everything on board the ship. Now, observe; if you please."

The area was a decent-sized room with various displays. There were large tunnels leading in two directions. They were tall enough for a fully-grown human male to walk upright in them. They were offset slightly, with a bend near their twin entries. "You may have noticed," explained the merchant, "that this ship does not have what you'd call nacelles. Instead, power flows around these apertures. The machinery is in these tunnels, and their exteriors – and the exterior of the ship – are where the power is generated and amplified."

"Doesn't that make everything more vulnerable?"

"It does not. Rather, it allows for a lower level of shielding at all times. Now, you _do_ have shields that can be raised or lowered. But with this arrangement, you're never fully vulnerable."

"Wouldn't other ships notice the shields being up, and think it strange?"

"This looks minor, and it scarcely registers on sensors. To other ships, this looks like your normal state of affairs. And it should, because it is."

"Which species designed this ship? I mean, it almost looks like an old-style fictional flying saucer."

"It's a Gorn design, I'm led to believe."

"Huh. Now, a question – let's say I wanted to stay hidden and go to the Gamma Quadrant. And I want to make a lot of stops, go fast in between, that sort of thing. What's the top speed on this baby?"

"Warp Eight. But the diffuser takes a great deal of power."

"How badly does it slow everything down?"

"Top speed with the diffuser deployed is around Warp Five."

"Warp Five? Sheesh, that's like the old _NX-01_!" The merchant looked puzzled, so she quickly added, "That was from, uh, about two hundred or so years ago. Maybe more."

"The diffuser is not for long flights. For your hypothetical trip to the Gamma Quadrant, your most reasonable course of action would be to travel normally, and only engage the diffuser on an as-needed basis."

"Fair enough. What about shuttles?"

"There are two bays in the space between the plasma tunnels – that's what takes the place of the nacelles. But you don't always need the shuttles."

"Well, there's the transporter, right?"

"Of course; it is on the top level," the Kreetassan confirmed, "but if you like, you can even land the ship."

"Huh. That's wacky. How?"

"It takes off and lands straight up."

"So it's like an old helicopter," she mused.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Just thinking to myself. Do go on."

"The landing gear is on the outside of the plasma tunnels."

"This thing has wheels?"

"Sleds, much like a shuttle. Given the size of the ship, your best choice for a landing is generally going to be in a medium to large-sized body of water. You could also land on a large ice floe, but it would have to be rather thick. Otherwise, the heat from the plasma tunnels would melt the ice."

"Why was this craft built? It seems kinda specialized," she opined.

"You have a discerning eye. I can confirm that it was a special order."

"So why didn't the original requester pick it up?"

"That person died."

"Oh."

He took out a PADD and clicked it to hers. "I've given you the specifications and my best price. Think it over. I'll be here."

The Perseus Trading Post was filled with dozens, if not hundreds, of exotic sentient species. Orions walked by, and their women produced headaches in other species' women, and desires in their men. The customer was not immune, and turned in a different direction so as to soothe her throbbing temples.

There was a tavern, and she entered it. She bellied up to the bar, where a Xindi Insectoid was pouring. A few clicks, and her PADD was able to translate the barkeep's language. "I asked you what you wanted."

"Yes, of course," she seemed distracted, "Got anything to counteract an Orion-sized headache?"

"Just a sec." The bartender produced a substance that looked a lot like cranberry juice.

"How much?" she asked.

"The minimum. Everything nonalcoholic is at the minimum. I accept standard credits, latinum, Daranaean Stonds or Calafan Los."

"Here." The bartender took her PADD and clicked it next to a device under the bar, thereby effortlessly transferring the funds. "Is anybody else in here not drinking?"

"Several aren't," was the reply, "pilots, of course."

"Hmm. There's a Gorn ship. It, it looks like, and I realize how nutty this sounds, but it kinda looks like a round sandwich cookie. Except Sick Bay is the filling. Anybody you know who'd know how to fly one?"

"That one's been for sale for quite a while. I believe it was custom-built."

"What for?"

"My understanding is that it was built for smuggling. As for a pilot, the style is somewhat unique, at least for around here. It's not likely you'll find someone skilled in piloting that exact configuration."

"I see. Know anyone who could wing it?" She could feel another headache coming on. Sure enough, an Orion woman had arrived.

"You'd have to check. Gotta go." The Insectoid tended to others, including the Orion who had just entered.

The human customer wandered around a bit, trying to dodge the raging pheromones. She came face to face with a sketch artist.

But this was no ordinary artist. The person was a female Daranaean, with off-white fur over most of her body, and light caramel coloring at the tips of her ears. She had two easels in front of her. She was evidently ambidextrous, for she had a stylus in each furry hand, and was furiously drawing away with both hands at the same time. Her PADD – the source of power and color choices for the twin styluses – was kept in her pouch. She was, after all, a marsupial.

Her two customers were a pair of Trill who were, apparently, married. "A moment! A moment!" called out the Daranaean. "I am very nearly finished."

In perhaps another minute, she really was done. The likenesses were a bit embellished, likely intended to be more like caricatures than accurate representations.

"Huh, I like it!" enthused the husband.

His wife frowned at hers. "I look fat."

"A moment!" the artist called out again. She adjusted something on her PADD and it erased a few lines from the woman's portrait. She then redrew them. "How's this instead?"

"Oh, that's fantastic! Do you take standard credits?" asked the wife.

PADDs were clicked together and the couple departed. The artist saved her work and erased it from the twin easels. The human customer sat down. "You're really good."

"Oh, I dunno," replied the Daranaean. "There are few chances to really shine here."

"Do you like to compete?"

"I do. It's probably got more to do with me being unmarried than anything else. Daranaean men aren't generally fond of third caste females who are anything but submissive all the time."

"Can you pilot a ship?"

"Not at all," replied the Daranaean, chuckling. She cocked her head to the side a little, and looked extremely canid. The human suppressed a smile. "But I can run Communications stations. My father insisted that I have a practical skill as it did not appear I would wed at the standard time. Plus he felt art was not so practical. I suspect he still does."

"I just thought, you know, seeing as you're pretty obviously skilled in thinking in three dimensions, that you'd be a natural at piloting."

"Truth is," the Daranaean explained, "I don't sculpt that often. Do you want me to do your portrait?"

"Actually, hang on." The human took out her PADD and clicked around until she found the specifications for the Gorn ship. "Can you draw this?"

"It hardly seems a challenge, Miss, uh …?"

"MacKenzie. My name is Mack MacKenzie."

"You have the same first and last name?" A fluffy hand was extended. "I am Crita."

"Nice to know you, Crita. My parents didn't name me Mack. But, huh, my real name is kinda annoying."

There was another head tilt. The canid look was again comical. "I do not understand."

"Let's just say I'm not a fan of it," Mack replied. She thought for a moment. "Actually, can you draw a logo?"

"What type of a logo?"

"For a – damn, those pheromones!" Mack put a hand to her forehead. "That Orion is giving me a monster headache."

Crita nodded and looked at her in sympathy. "I guess She Who Listens Well's concoction didn't help too much."

"She Who – what?"

"The bartender – her name is She Who Listens Well."

"I take it that's descriptive," Mack replied.

"It is," came an unfamiliar voice – the Orion woman.

"Forgive me," Mack muttered, "but you're giving me a serious migraine here."

"Oh, sorry," replied the Orion.

In less than a minute, the headaches were completely gone. "I guess that elixir worked. I'll have to thank, er, She Who Doesn't Talk Much."

"No, it's She Who Listens Well," laughed the Orion. "Although I suppose that's fairly similar. But it wasn't her brew at all."

"You made the headaches go away?" Mack was incredulous. The Orion nodded and smiled, and her eyes widened. Mack got a good look at the green-skinned woman's eyes. The irises were pure black. "You're not completely Orion, am I right?"

"You are. My name is Daniya. And I am half-Orion, and half-Betazoid."

"Huh." Mack introduced herself and Crita, and then thought for a second. "So you can sense emotions, and you can also manipulate them."

"Clever girl," Daniya replied. "In any event, She Who Listens Well mentioned that you're looking for a pilot."

"You know one?" Mack inquired.

"I am one," Daniya smiled.

"You know how to fly that Gorn ship?"

"I don't think anyone really does. But it can't be all that tough to figure out, I'm thinking."

"What interests you about it?" Mack asked.

"The whole thing is intriguing," Daniya said. "A ship that can't be sold, of an odd configuration, with a dead owner? It rouses my curiosity a bit."

"Lemme buy you a drink," Mack offered. "Uh, _She Who_ – eh, help me out here."

" _She Who Listens Well,_ " Crita prompted.

"Ah, thanks." Mack bellied up to the bar. " _She Who Listens Well_ , can I get another of these," Mack brandished her now-empty tumbler, "and whatever my two tablemates like to drink?"

The Insectoid nodded, her articulated joints a blur as she produced the requested beverages. "One Orion Headache special, one water with elekai broth, and one nonalcoholic tranya."

Mack clicked her PADD next to a device at the bar. "Thanks." She brought the drinks over on a small tray that the Insectoid had provided.

"I take it you're the one who wanted water," Mack handed the tallest of the three glasses to Crita.

"Oh, yes! With a bit of elekai broth! It smells good." She put her glass up to her face and got in a good sniff.

"Ah, thank you," Daniya took her drink, which was peach-colored.

"To intriguing, uh, stuff," Mack said, lifting her glass.

"Yes," Crita said as the three of them clinked glasses. She brought her glass up to her face again and licked the surface of the liquid a little, looking more canid than before.

"So," Mack asked, "Do you know anything about that ship?"

"There seem to be few buyers," Crita stated, "at least, they do not come for portraits. But I hear almost no one discussing purchasing it, although I sometimes hear people disdaining it. It is a rather odd shape and I suppose that is off-putting to many."

"Pilot talk says it's no good for maintaining your license. It's too strange," Daniya reported, "Not like regular shuttle or freighter runs, where you stay in practice with standard Federation designs. But all the same, I like the idea of something different. Regular freighter runs can be pretty run of the mill. Don't get me wrong; I like to make a few credits as much as anyone else. But the standard fare isn't too challenging. That ship, though, I bet it would pose a challenge."

"How'd you like to take it out for a test flight?"

"Intriguing. May I ask what you're planning on doing with that ship?" asked the Orion-Betazoid.

"It kinda depends on who I can get together, what kinds of skills I can get, that sort of thing."

"Is it anything illegal?" Crita asked a little nervously.

"Not quite. But I don't think any laws would be broken. But they might get a little bent," Mack admitted.

"Bent?" asked the Orion hybrid.

"There are a few details of dubious legality, mostly involving gambling."

"Now you've got me wondering," Daniya mused.

"What do you think of taking that test flight _now_?" Mack asked. She brushed a wisp of brown hair away from her face.

"I could, I suppose," Daniya replied.

"Wanna come along?" Mack asked Crita.

"I, oh, why not?" Her easels were given to She Who Listens Well for safe-keeping and they walked together to the merchant's area.

"I see you have returned with friends," the Kreetassan merchant observed. "What do you think of my offer?"

"I want a test flight," Mack replied. "Daniya here will fly the boat."

"And you?" the Kreetassan asked Crita.

"Oh, I'm here to watch, I think."

The four of them boarded the ship and ascended to the top level. Daniya was led over to a console. "Most remarkable," mused the Kreetassan, "Your kind are, well, you are purported to be irresistible."

"Yet you're fine, eh?" answered the Orion hybrid. She furrowed her brow for a split second, and both Mack and Crita held their own heads. The pheromones had returned.

"It is possible," the Kreetassan smiled an oily smile, "to run this vessel on an automated basis. And then we could … go down to the lowest level."

"And why would we wish to do that?" Daniya asked as she familiarized herself with the console.

"The beds are there," was his leering reply.

"Hey! Hey! You got a job to do, pal!" Mack reminded him, with a bit of an edge to her voice.

He looked past her. Daniya's brow was briefly furrowed again, and he seemed to snap out of it. "Yes, of course. Let us begin your test flight."


	2. 2-Szish

**Chapter 2 - Szish**

It involved a few checks and rechecks of the schematics before Daniya was able to get the Gorn ship aloft. "It handles differently," she observed, "almost like a shuttle, rather than a starship. It's a nimble craft."

"How large is it?" Crita inquired.

"The levels are each about twenty-six hundred meters in circumference," replied the merchant. He consulted his PADD. "There are thirty bunks on the bottom level. They are all large enough for two. The cargo areas can accept a few metric tons of freight – more if the crew is small."

"Where are the automated controls?" Daniya asked.

"Here," he pressed something under her console, and a smaller board came up. "Punch in the coordinates on the main display and set the speed there as well. Then set this display to automatic. The system will then ask you when you wish to be alerted before arrival, and how you wish to handle communications hails, possible acts of aggression, and so forth."

"Pretty damn slick," Mack whistled through her teeth. "Who was the guy who had it built in the first place?"

"He was a Gorn named Szish."

"You said he had died," Mack reminded him. "Do you know how?"

He was about to answer her when the vessel took a hit. "What the hell was that?" Mack asked, a bit of anger in her voice. Crita looked scared.

"I – oh, no," moaned the Kreetassan.

"Get Tactical up and running!" Mack commanded. "Daniya, get us back to Perseus, as quick as you can, okay?"

"Right," answered the Orion mix, a greenish blur as she worked.

The Kreetassan hit the controls at a nearby console and it sprang to life. "Hmm, now, let's see." They were hit again.

"You don't have time to make it pretty!" Mack yelled. "Which is Communications?" The Kreetassan pointed. She fumbled around with the display until it lit up. "Crita, can you run this?" Her voice was a lot gentler.

"I think so." White fluffy hands pressed switches and then she placed a small device in her large triangular-shaped ear. "Unidentified vessel!" she called out. "This is the … oh, what is the name of this ship?"

Mack looked back. "Uh, I dunno. _The Cookie!"_

"All right. Uh, this is the _Cookie,_ " announced the Daranaean, surprisingly calmly. "We are just riding around, and our motives are peaceful ones. Why are you attacking?"

She hit another switch and the front viewing screen switched to an image of a blue and magenta face with orangey horns sticking out all around it. "Szish! Where is he?!" thundered the person who was, evidently, the other ship's captain.

"He's _dead!_ " Mack yelled back.

"Oh?" The bluish-magenta guy with horns motioned to a colleague. "Power down weapons." He turned to face Mack. "You are the new captain, then?"

"Who the hell are _you_?" she asked. She could see the Tactical display in the front of that station, and was endeavoring to teach it to herself as she spoke. "I don't know any Imvari."

"I am Skoloth. I believe you have a little something that belongs to me. A female such as yourself surely understands the … injustice of such a situation."

"I know lots of things," Mack replied, a bit peevishly, "I understand more than most. So cut the crap, and don't try to flatter me. What the hell do you want?" she snarled.

"You are anxious," Skoloth observed, "and a bit … nervous. All of this is completely understandable when it's your first command." His tone was patronizing.

Daniya glanced around and set the ship to automatic for a moment. She tapped out a message on her console. He's bluffing _._ She sent it to all of the consoles on the Bridge, even the unmanned ones.

Mack glanced down when she saw a tiny flash out of the corner of her eye. She read the brief message. "I don't think we've got anything more to say."

"No?" asked Skoloth. "Such a pity, for one so young to die today, and for such a … _trivial_ … article."

"If it was so trivial," Mack countered, "you wouldn't have been firing at us. And definitely not so close to a Federation Trading Post." She stood up and turned, so as to face away from Skoloth and toward Crita. She made a throat-slashing gesture, hoping the Daranaean knew what she meant.

Crita hit a few keys on the Communications console. She then tapped out a message: _I can't tell if the sound is really off._

Mack nodded at her. She turned to face the main screen again. She smiled. "We'll be back at Perseus soon. And then we'll be under Federation protection."

Daniya sent a message. _ETA is 14 minutes._

Mack glanced at it. "Our ETA is less than ten minutes. So relax, Skoloth. Unless you feel like hanging around with nosy, nasty Federation types."

He gestured to her – apparently the sound truly had been off. "Get him back," Mack told Crita.

Crita hit some more switches. "Listen," Mack said as soon as she got the nod. "I'm sure you don't want any trouble. We'll be back at Perseus in uh, less than ten minutes. The Federation gives new meaning to the term nosy. You don't want 'em snooping around, now, do ya?"

"Hand over the article," Skoloth offered, "or we open fire again."

"We have nothing more to say," Mack replied. "Crita?"

White fluffy hands worked the controls, and the connection was cut. "We're clear."

"Take Tactical," Mack told the Kreetassan, who balked. "C'mon! Ya wanna stay alive long enough to sell this boat, right?" He got up and she began to run to the back. The ship was rocked. "Daniya!" Mack yelled back. "You're in charge!" Mack broke into the kind of run she had used, long ago, to steal second base. Her destination was the ionization diffuser.

She overshot it slightly, and then turned on a dime. Just like pivoting to turn a double play, she mused for the briefest fraction of a second.

She hurriedly sat down at the station. "Uh, main viewer, where the hell are ya?" A little fumbling around and she found its controls. She grabbed the joystick and turned it. Nothing. "Dammit, why aren't you _on_?"

They were hit again, and she could feel as the ship was turned hard to starboard. She flipped a switch and the console sprang to life. "Okay, okay, sixteen red, two green, that's good, that's good." She pulled up and swiveled the joystick around and the numbers changed. This time, it was eleven red and four green. "Okay, a few dropped outta range, or maybe they cloaked. Let's try the mimic routine." She hit a few more switches and turned the joystick again. "Six blue, ten red, no green, okay, okay, where the hell is communications?"

The question was answered for her with a chime and a flash on a display in front of her. It was another written message from Crita – that guy is calling back, and he's asking for you.

"Huh." She tapped out and sent a quick message of her own – _tell him I have the article, and I left in an escape pod. You don't know where I went and you can't reach me._

Mack looked back at the console. "Okay, I need to extend the diffusive field, he said." She pulled down on a lever and swiveled the joystick again. "There, you! Vissian freighter! You're gonna be the _Cookie._ "

The freighter was visible on the main viewer. It was between them and the Imvari vessel. She pulled the joystick around again and the view shimmered a bit. And then it appeared as if they were looking in a mirror, for the freighter suddenly looked like it could be a dead ringer for the little Gorn vessel.

There was another written message. This one was from Daniya – _what are you doing back there? They stopped firing at us, and started up on what I guess is still a Vissian freighter._

 _Tell you when we get in_ was Mack's written reply as she pulled the joystick and lever down, turning off the diffuser. Unmolested, they returned to Perseus. The ship glided smoothly back into the bay. Mack returned to the Bridge. "I see the … article … was effective," observed the Kreetassan, a little smugly.

"Why the hell didn't ya tell me it was stolen?" Mack yelled in return.

"What? What was stolen?" Crita asked, bewildered.

"That thing," Daniya concluded, "it's what those Imvari were looking for. You used it to somehow get them to go after that Vissian freighter instead."

"Well?" Mack asked the merchant, tapping her foot in impatience.

"I, I, look," he stammered, "It's not like that. The, the article isn't stolen. But it is quite in demand, as you can see."

"There are others like it, aren't there?" Mack asked sharply. "Right?"

The Kreetassan sighed. "That, unfortunately, is the issue right there. Szish was an inventor. The, the article, much like this ship, is a one of a kind piece."

"Do tell," Mack was still impatient.

"There are how many ship designs out there?" began the merchant. "But none other has retracted nacelles such as this. The wishbone configuration is also a unique design. There have been numerous modifications made."

"What kinds of modifications?" Daniya asked.

"Are you associates?" asked the merchant. "This negotiation should be confidential."

"No," Crita replied, a bit emboldened. "We were fired upon. I, I think that gives us the right to, to hear at least some of it."

Mack drew a breath. "Can you excuse us a sec?" she asked the Kreetassan.

"By all means. I shall go to this ship's Sick Bay to wait." He departed.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Mack confided, "Truth is, he's got a point. If you're going to hear the secrets of this boat, well, you should be more than just acquaintances from the local bar."

"I'd still like to know what endangered me," Daniya stated.

"Huh," Mack decided, "Fair enough. Uh, grab your PADDs."

"Okay," replied Crita, fishing it out of her pouch.

"I'm going to tell you who I am. And what I'm thinking of doing. And then you can decide if you want to work with me. And if you do," Mack offered, "then I'm happy to have our friend below decks spill his guts in front of you. But if not, it stays a mystery to you. I gotta protect myself. Fair enough?"

Daniya nodded, and then Crita did as well.

"All right. My real first name isn't that important. I've always disliked it, and I don't use it professionally. But you can run a search under my middle name, which I _do_ use professionally – _Dana MacKenzie_."

Crita and Daniya started clicking around on their PADDs. "It says here," stated the Daranaean, "that you played, uh, something called _shortstop for the Titan Bluebirds."_

"That was a good twenty years ago," Mack confirmed. "I also filled in at second from time to time."

"There's, uh, there's more," Daniya pointed out. She and Crita read the remainder in silence. The part-Orion looked up. "You must've just gotten here."

"Today, yeah, I did," Mack confirmed, "I traded away the PADD they gave me. I got myself an older model, but at least I know for sure that it doesn't have a tracer on it. Checked my bank accounts, too, while the transport pulled in here this morning. I've got everything from nearly twenty years ago, plus interest. So don't worry, I can afford the boat, along with some modifications of my own. The unique stuff is driving the price up, but it's also a white elephant. So that can drive the price right back down, I figure."

She took a breath before continuing. "He's dying to unload it, so I'm pretty confident I can bargain him down to a more reasonable figure."

"And your intended business?" inquired the green woman.

"Do you know what barnstorming is?" Mack inquired.

"Not a clue," Daniya admitted. "You?"

"Me? Oh, no," Crita answered a little absently. She was still reading. "From what I can gather, you've been through a lot, Dana."

"Call me Mack, please. But, yeah, I guess I have. I dunno." She looked a bit uncomfortable, a far cry from her earlier swagger. "I compartmentalized it. And I suppose I still do. So forgive me if I don't talk about it all that much."

"We're still relative strangers," Daniya pointed out, "so there's no need to be apologetic. But please tell us what this, this barnstorming is."

"A few hundred years ago, on Earth, baseball was played by professionals, but also by semi-pros. Keep in mind, there were talented people who were kept out of the pros due to prejudice. They had to go somewhere, and they really wanted to play. And so they found a way."

"Which was?" Daniya asked, small smile playing on her lips.

"I'm getting to that. See, most pro teams were based in a particular city or town. But some teams traveled. But barnstormers were generally not considered to be pro, and they really didn't have a home field at all. They would head from town to town, and would stop somewhere, and it would be an event," Mack explained. "The locals would put up their better amateur players, tickets would be sold – the whole shebang. The traveling team would sleep in people's houses, or on the side of the road, or in the bus, or even in barns – hence the term. They'd usually stay some place for a week or so and practice and then play the big game. It was slow traveling then, so they needed to get a place to play and practice for a little while and stretch their legs."

"I can imagine," nodded the fluffy woman.

"Anyway, our intrepid travelers would get a percentage of the gate and then move onto the next town. Sometimes local boys would join up and follow 'em right outta town. For guys who didn't really have prospects, and didn't want to spend their lives in coal mines or steel mills, barnstorming had to have looked pretty glamorous."

"Did the opposite ever happen?" Crita inquired.

"It must have," Mack agreed, "You know, they might fall in love with a town, or a woman in it or whatever, I suppose. Eventually, I guess we all get old enough and we wanna put down roots. And like I said, this was slow travel – it must have started off in wagons and then eventually it was buses. It pretty much stopped when professional baseball became racially integrated in 1947."

"So you wish to play baseball again?" Crita asked.

"Not just that and not just me. See, I figure there's a market out there. People would _love_ to see sports competitions. And in this scenario, it's not just baseball. It's local sports, whatever they are."

"Local?" inquired the green-skinned woman.

"I'm thinking of traveling not just from city to city, but from planet to planet and system to system, see. There'd be a team of around, I dunno, fifty people. They'd have all sorts of skills and abilities. And they'd be all sorts of species."

"You mentioned earlier, something about gambling," Crita pointed out.

Mack explained, "There might be betting. And we can wager for ourselves to win. But not to lose – I don't want anybody betting on themselves to lose, and then throwing games. It's dishonorable. Just do a search on the 1919 Chicago Black Sox Scandal and you'll know what I'm talking about."

"What will you do with the ship?" Daniya inquired.

"Aside from getting from place to place, this'll be our training facility. We'll have a holodeck for practice sessions. We could use the middle level's perimeter for a running track. I want a kitchen and a garden, too – they could be on that floor. I guess cargo can be moved somewhere else, maybe to the top level."

"A kitchen? A garden?" Daniya asked, "Those things will devour your free time, if you don't watch it."

"I know," Mack admitted, "but we'll try to _make_ time. I want all this," she gestured vaguely, "because it's how you build a team. So we go to Tellar or Bajor or wherever, and we play. It's an event, just like it was a few hundred years ago on Earth. We get a piece of the gate. Maybe we eventually start peddling merchandise. And we sometimes wager on ourselves to win –at least we don't bet when we figure it's a pretty foregone conclusion that we'd lose."

"The crew should be larger," Daniya pointed out. "I am no engineer. Plus you will need a person at Tactical, and a physician. I cannot do those things."

"Are you saying you'll do it?" Mack asked.

"I am saying, it is intriguing," replied the part-Orion. "And I am, I admit, more than a little tired of constantly being hired out. I am also sick of men trying to paw at me. Would you paw at me?"

"I don't swing that way," Mack replied. "You?" she asked the Daranaean.

"Me? Oh, no, of course not. I was raised with good Daranaean third caste manners." She paused. "I am but an artist. I fear there is little need for me here."

"There's _a_ lot of need for you here," Mack explained. "First off, remember I mentioned a logo? Well, we'll need one. We'll need uniforms, too, and for all sorts of things. One day, you'd be designing, I dunno, mountain climbing gear. The next day it might be swimsuits."

"Still, that is limited, yes?" asked the fluffy woman. She tilted her head and looked particularly canid at that instant.

"I won't tell you it's not," Mack admitted, "but you can run Communications, right? And, well, I get the feeling someone like you would help to keep us all sane."

"There would be large men, yes?" Crita was a little fearful. "I am; it could be …."

"Tell you what," Mack offered, "I will do my best to bring in people who won't worry you, okay? But recognize there are some violent sports in the galaxy."

"There are competitions to the death," Daniya pointed out.

"We won't do those," Mack decided. "And I won't have anybody competing where the prize is a marriage, or a slave, either. We'll just be playing for good old-fashioned credits, or latinum, or Calafan _Los_."

"Or Daranaean Stonds?" Crita inquired.

"Those, too," Mack smiled. "So, do we have a deal?" Their six hands joined together – green, fluffy white and the color of coffee with heavy cream. "I guess this means _yes_."


	3. 3-Communications

**Chapter 3 - Communications**

The Kreetassan was in Sick Bay as promised, looking at the equipment, and trying to keep from being too bored. The doors swished open. He tuned at the sound. "Well?"

"I don't like being fired upon," Mack began, "And I bet Skoloth's not alone. There's gotta be a lot more people gunning for this ship."

"Perhaps."

"You don't have any other buyers," she opined. "Am I right?" Crita and Daniya stood behind her.

"I have plenty of prospects," he replied.

Daniya furrowed her brow a little, and came closer as the other two held their heads. "You were saying?" she purred seductively, taking the Kreetassan's arm.

"I, I, well, that is to say," the Kreetassan stammered, "I, I …."

"Tell me the truth now, darling," the green-skinned woman coaxed.

"I, you are correct. You are my sole serious buyers."

Daniya furrowed her brow again, and the air was cleared. She moved back to stand behind Mack as the Kreetassan shook his head and was no longer under her spell.

"I want modifications," Mack told him, "and I want them done in the next month. I've got to get started."

"The timetable depends upon which modifications you desire," replied the Kreetassan.

Mack clicked her PADD next to his in order to transfer the data. "I also want the complete schematics for this boat. No holding back – I wanna know everything Szish made or even started to make. I also want complete maintenance records, logs and anything else you've got – not just on the ship but whatever you've got on Szish, Skoloth and anybody else who's, er, expressed an _interest_ in the boat or the ionization diffuser."

"Some may be difficult to obtain."

"Do your best."

"And in return?" he asked.

"I'll meet your price," Mack stated.

"You drive a hard bargain," he sighed, but he conceded.

The three of them returned to the tavern, and Crita's easels were returned to her. She thanked She Who Listens Well and went to a table where the other two were already seated. "I should contact my parents," she mused, "or else they will worry. Eh, they worry either way."

"I suppose I'll spend the month studying those schematics," Daniya announced.

"I'll have to put together the team," Mack mused. "I could use help in that area."

"I know nothing of sport," Daniya conceded.

"You can measure stuff, though, right? Plus I figure it's not just athletic abilities. I'll need people who can work together as a team." Mack sighed. "What I _really_ want is for us to not be hit the next time we leave that launch bay. There's gotta be a way to lower those odds."

"The ship isn't Starfleet," Crita pointed out. "I suspect there are many who feel they can just take potshots without suffering significant consequences. It would help, I imagine; if it were associated with Starfleet in some manner." She checked her PADD. "It seems my parents have contacted me. There is a dormitory for Daranaean working females. I have been staying there. I should go there and call my parents back." She got up. "I will return, say, after supper?"

"Sure," Mack allowed, "take your time."

The Daranaean left with her easels. Daniya stated, "She's right, you know. It would be best if you – or at least the Cookie – had some sort of a connection to Starfleet, no matter how tenuous. Do you know anyone?"

Mack's eyes lit up. "Yes! Yes! Of course!" Happily, she tapped out a fast message – _I hope you're okay; I've missed you. I know this is out of left field, but I've got a business proposition for you. I know it's been a long, long time. Are you interested?_ She hit send.

"You have a place to sleep tonight?" asked the green-skinned woman.

"I was thinking of sleeping on board. You're welcome to grab a cabin of your own, if you want to do the same. You might as well grab a good one."

"I, too, have a call to make," Daniya rose. "But I'll take you up on that bunk. See you later."

In the Daranaean dormitory, Crita found a quiet area. "I'd like to speak with Seramus and Linnatella, on Daranaea."

"Connecting you now," was the response from the relayer.

Crita's parents were both greying. Her father's two other wives stood nearby. "How are you, my artist daughter?" he asked.

"I, I'm taking a new job."

"Oh?" asked Linnatella, "and have you found a husband to purchase you yet?"

"No, Mama."

"What is this job?" asked Seramus.

"I'll be doing design and communications. It's for a, a team. The leader is a human woman named Dana MacKenzie."

One of Seramus's two other wives searched on her PADD and, when she had located the appropriate information, passed the device to Seramus. He glanced at it. "Is this job safe?"

"It is," Crita measured her words carefully, "as safe as being here on Perseus."

"I don't like it," opined Linnatella. "How will you find a husband to buy you?"

"Mama," Crita tried to maintain her patience, "if I go out and travel, I am far more likely to meet a husband, yes?"

Her mother thought for a moment. "Perhaps. Would you come here ever? We have not seen you in months."

"When I could, I would come. Maybe we could play there. We could compete in ring-throwing, or staggered relay, or in mazes."

"That is a possibility," allowed her father. "Since it is taking a while for you to find a husband, I would like to start sending you names with short biographies. You should look over the likely candidates with an open mind. You are eighteen, you know, and are not getting any younger."

"I – yes, Father," Crita conceded, looking down submissively.

"Be careful," cautioned Linnatella. "Your brothers and sisters miss you as much as we do, you know."

"Yes, Mama. I miss everyone. I will be sure to write to you, and tell you of my adventures. Crita out."

Daniya went to where she had been staying – a barracks for pilots. She found an unoccupied room and flipped open her older style communicator. "I want to talk to Rinchak, on Orion." A pause and they were connected. "I am terminating my contract," she announced with no preamble.

"Oh?" he asked. He was a rather large Orion man.

"Yes," Daniya was emboldened. "I've found other work."

"You owe me," he informed her. He hit a few keys on his PADD. "Transmitting the figure to you now."

She glanced at the number as it splashed across her PADD's screen. "What are those extra charges?"

"Those are early termination fees. Check the fine print."

"I'm not one of your hookers," Daniya snarled, "You can't charge me like you'd be charging them to terminate."

"A hooker, a pilot – I don't much care. I rent you out as you're needed, and you pay me a percentage of the take. When you terminate the contract, you mess with my livelihood. And I don't much care for that. So I'll take my extras."

She looked at the figure again. "I can give you half now, and half in a year."

"I don't agree to your terms," he sneered.

"Tough," she replied, "Unless you don't want anything from me. Now, half doesn't sound that bad, does it?"

=/\=

On the _Enterprise-E_ , a tall man strode down a corridor, looking a little lost. "Can I help you, Commander?" asked a young female Ensign.

"Uh, no thanks." He saw a turbolift out of the corner of his eye. "I got this one."

He got into it unmolested. "Uh, Deck Three." The lift began to ascend. "Huh," he said to no one. "I wish this day from hell would end already." There was a chime, and he took out his PADD. "Holy cow." His mood immediately brightened considerably as he saw who the note was from.

The doors opened and he made his way to Cabin 327 and opened the door. There were some boxes in there, and the quarters were not yet personalized. He ignored his unpacking and instead read the note. He tapped out a response – _Of course I'm interested. It's amazing to hear from you. They wouldn't let us know anything about what was going on with you. Call me at 2200 hours and let's catch up. – Marty._ He hit send.

There was a communications chime, and he tapped his badge. "Madden here."

"Mister Madden," came a British-accented voice, "Let's conclude your first day on the _Enterprise-E_ with supper in Ten Forward, at, say, 1900 hours?"

"Yes, sir," replied Martin Madden.

"Very well. I shall see you then. Picard out."

=/\=

While Mack was waiting for Crita and Daniya, she ate some dinner at the tavern and sent out a generalized note – _Wanted – four dozen athletes for various sports. Tryouts will be held at the Perseus Trading Post, starting in four days. Specific sports will depend upon who is hired, so all athletic types are desired. Full medical history information and crew experience information preferred. Report to MD MacKenzie on July 16, 2379._

She heard a chime and read Marty's note, smiling to herself. There was older mail, too, from the past two decades, finally coming in. Some was from her parents, but that had ended abruptly fourteen years previously, in 2365. And then the only remaining correspondence was various short and almost perfunctory notes from Ensign, then Lieutenant, and then Commander Martin Madden of the _USS Talos._ "I wish they had let me see these when you sent 'em," she murmured quietly, a bit wistfully.

"Talking to yourself?" It was Daniya.

"Constantly."

"I hope the communications are positive ones," laughed the green-skinned woman.

"Usually. I see you're taking me up on the offer of a bunk." Mack indicated a pair of bags that Daniya was carrying.

"Yes, um, about that."

"Oh?"

"I have a debt that I need to pay. So I need to dump some personal effects, and I can't afford to stay at the pilot barracks anymore."

"What kind of debt?" Mack inquired.

"It's the Orion way," Daniya explained. "The more we've gone out into the galaxy, the more control the Syndicate has wanted to exercise."

"How do they do that?"

"I work for a man called Rinchak. He hires me out and then he gets a cut of my earnings."

"Do you still work for him?" Mack asked. "I mean, I want to pay you what you're worth. I'd really rather not be funneling funds to the Syndicate. Everyone knows they were associated with the Dominion and all."

"I told him I wanted to terminate my contract, and work for you."

"So do you owe him a cut of your back wages, then? I'm not so sure I'm following you." Mack admitted.

"I paid those charges on time," Daniya explained, "These are termination fees and the like."

"How badly are you in the hole?"

"Almost a year's worth of what I'm worth."

Mack sighed. "What are you selling of yours?"

"Clothes and jewelry, mostly."

"Is this gonna leave you broke, Daniya?"

"Almost," she admitted.

"Shouldn't it matter that you're only half-Orion?" Mack pointed out.

"It does. I'd be charged a lot more if I was pure."

"Pure – charge – what?" Crita asked, coming over. She had a small bag with her.

Daniya explained the situation. Crita asked, "Can you show me the jewelry you are selling? I have many sisters and sisters-in-law, and some nieces now as well. Plus there is my mother, and my father has his two other wives. I always need to purchase some gift or another."

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in the clothes?" Daniya asked.

"Our chests are different. I carry my breasts in my pouch. So only pants would fit, and then only maybe. When there is a pregnancy, or a pouchling, there is a need for a lot more room. I suspect your clothing would be too small."

"Well, it's at least something," replied the part-Orion.

The three of them walked to the ship. "Back so soon?" inquired the Kreetassan. "I have the bag you sent over; it's in Sick Bay if you want it."

"We wanna sleep on board," Mack stated.

"I suppose I could move the workers tonight."

"Not just tonight," Mack countered. She then thought for a second. "But if you need for us to move around during this month, it's not a problem. We'll accommodate the construction."

"Very well," was the reply. "The individual replicators are not yet connected. The workers are starting on the holodeck, as per your request. Most of the underlying gadgetry was already in place. It seems Szish may have had similar plans. It can be finished in five days."

"Good," Mack stated. "Is there any sort of a large common area in the trading post where I could get holodeck time until they're done?"

"There is a holosuite at the back of the tavern where She Who Listens Well works," Crita offered.

"Then I'll use that. G'night." They took their leave of the Kreetassan and boarded the Cookie.

"Don't you have any luggage?" asked Daniya.

"Just one bag," Mack told them, "and it's already been transferred to Sick Bay. You got anything more than that one bag, Crita?"

"My luggage is still at the dormitory, for the most part. I can get it tomorrow. Or if the workers need for us to clear out, I suppose you could both stay there briefly."

"There are a good thirty bunks here; I think we'll be fine," Mack said.

"What's the dormitory like?" asked Daniya as they walked.

"We sleep on our pads on the floor, with shared blankets, all in the common sleeping chamber," the fluffy woman explained. "We take our meals together in the big hall. It is much like home."

"You sleep on the floor at home?" Mack asked.

"Yes, we do. It is only the very old who sleep on raised platforms. See, as a little girl, I slept in a common area with all of my brothers and sisters. When I marry, I will sleep in a shared space with one of the other wives and any of the children, unless my husband desires my company for that evening."

"Excuse me?" asked Daniya.

"Wealthy Daranaean men purchase three wives – one woman from each of our three castes. I am of the third caste, so I would be bought last, after the other two. It used to be," Crita explained, "that we women had few choices in the matter. But nowadays, we look over images and biographies of those who are interested if we do not know them personally. Then we counter with our interests until, eventually, an agreement is reached."

"But you're still bought and sold," Mack pointed out.

"It is much more of a token transaction now," Crita explained, "Our society has undergone some fairly radical shifts since First Contact with humans, and our planet eventually joining the Federation. For one thing, I can work outside of our system. That was once impossible."

They were on the lowest level of the _Cookie_. "I figure," Mack said, "we can control the environment any way we like. But I do like to conserve. Those things being the case, if you like a cooler bedroom, pick the very front or the very back. Otherwise, take a side bunk."

"Got it," Daniya said, yawning. "G'night." She proceeded in one direction and Crita went in the other.

Mack went to the very front of the ship, where there was a decent-sized bunk. She sighed a little, finally allowing herself to relax a bit. "Private replicator's not working yet, like he said. And the desktop isn't set up, yet, either. Huh, I guess this'll be home sweet home. It's a damn sight bigger than my cell was, at least."


	4. 4-The MDM Twins

**Chapter 4 – The MDM Twins**

Mack went to the middle level and retrieved her bag from Sick Bay. She detoured to the mess hall, and could hear the workmen nearby, installing the machinery for the holodeck, but she didn't see any of them.

She stood in front of a replicator. "Computer, switch out of food preparation mode."

 _Working._

"Create a sports bra for high impact activities."

 _Size?_

"Uh, band is one hundred and four centimeters. Cup size should be, erm, seven point seven centimeters."

 _Color?_

"Oh, I dunno, light grey."

The replicator dutifully spat out the requested article. "Matching panties; size is Enolian size six." The second article was produced. "Athletic socks, grey, standard women's size." Again, they were prepared for her. "Tee shirt, plain grey. Dammit, that's a lotta grey. Uh, _Titan Bluebirds_ regulation tee shirt, grey with bright blue short sleeves. Size is Enolian size fourteen." She thought for a moment. "Matching blue running shorts, Enolian size sixteen. Also, create blue and grey running sneakers. Compensate for slight pronation on the negative angle of the left foot, by, uh, ten degrees."

 _Size?_

"Twenty-seven." The articles were produced. She took them and her bag to her new quarters.

She opened up the bag. There were two white tank tops with shelf bras, hopelessly stretched out of shape. The backs of each of them said in Enolian script – _Property of Canamar Prison_. She threw them into the disposer. There were three pairs of white socks with a similar message. She got rid of those, too. A pair of white tees said the same thing. Those, too, were pitched. There was also a small Dopp kit. On the side, it said, in Federation Standard – _Property of Gemara Prison, Berren Five_.

She emptied it onto the bed. "Tooth cleaner, hair brush, blue cube razor, unscented deodorant and nothing else? Sheesh." There was a little bathroom off to the side, and she put the articles into it, and then disposed of the bag they had come in.

Then she stripped completely, tossing her old clothes into a corner, and appraised her image in the mirror. There were huge scars crisscrossing her chest. Some were darker, some were wider and some were jagged. "These prove that it was all real, that it really happened," she said to no one. She put on the new clothes and returned to the middle level, and began to run along the perimeter track, making two full circuits. When she was done, she checked a wrist chronometer which also worked as a personal communicator. "Huh, fifty minutes for a 5K. You gotta do better than that, MacKenzie."

There was more of a sound of machinery and work being done on the holodeck. She peered at the chronometer again. "Dammit, I'll be late for my call!" She hightailed it back to her new quarters.

Once inside, she took off her bra and then put the tee back on, and then hopped into bed. She clicked on the communicator while simultaneously turning on her PADD. "This would be easier if the damned desktop was set up," she muttered. The two devices synchronized nearly immediately. She pulled up Marty's note as the communications relayer for the Perseus Trading Post got on the line. "I'd like to talk to Marty – er, Martin – Madden on the, holy cow, the _Enterprise._ "

"Connecting you now," replied the relayer.

"Hey!" she called out, smiling.

"Hiya! Man, oh, man, it's been a long time. Too long," he replied.

"Well, that appeal took forever! It was like _Bleak House_ , that _Jarndyce and Jarndyce_ case – it took nearly two decades to get those stupid trumped-up charges dismissed. No wonder so many people give up hope."

"You're looking good," he said, "Hard for me to believe, but the last time we saw each other, we were both in our thirties. Your hair's still brown."

"Yeah, heh, well, the transfer guy who gave me a haircut was nice and colored it for me. I like your salt and pepper."

"Ah, thanks. So, when'd they spring ya?"

"A few days ago, I got word that I was being transferred out of Canamar to Gemara."

"Gemara?"

"Canamar's run by the Enolians. Gemara used to be Romulan, way back when, but now it's Tellarite. It's near the galactic barrier. And it's a lot worse than Canamar. So I got transferred there. They didn't tell me what was going on, but that was par for the course."

"I can't even imagine your ordeal," Marty said sympathetically. "You're holding together really well."

"It was, eh, I can't quite talk about it yet, okay?"

"Understood. But you tell me any time, okay, Mystic? Just wake me up in the middle of the night if you have to."

"Mystic. Ha, nobody but you ever called me that, Cuz."

He smiled at that. "And nobody calls me Marty but you. I, I missed that." They were both quiet for a while, remembering the lost years. "You were talking about Gemara," he prompted.

"Yeah, they got me there – apparently the Tellarites are better-equipped to do transfers and releases there. It seems Canamar has so few releases that the Enolians barely know how to do 'em. So anyway, they put me in Solitary for my own safety. Two days later, they handed me a bag with a few things in it and a PADD, plus enough credits to get to the Perseus Trading Post."

"Then what?"

"I was on the transport and got here this morning. First thing I did was trade down the PADD. I know they put tracers on 'em for parolees. I'm no parolee, but I dunno if they really knew that, or wanted to believe it. I couldn't take the chance," Mack stated. "Then I checked my accounts and found I was, well, not exactly wealthy, but not exactly poor, either."

"Your folks took the _Titan Bluebirds_ organization to court to make sure you got your back wages. You, uh, you know about them, right?" Marty asked.

"Yeah," Mack was quiet. "The Enolian authorities didn't tell me when it actually happened fourteen years ago, those SOBs. I, uh, I found out they were dead this morning. I guess I'll process that sometime later, too."

"Call me if you need me. I want you to, okay, Mystic?"

"Thanks. They, uh, I had no contact with anyone. It was – I told myself that you were all dead. If everybody in the family was dead, I kinda thought no one would be worried, or anything. Nearly two decades in prison will make you go into pretty deep denial. You kinda pretend about a lot of things. It makes it a little bit easier, I guess. You get kinda Zen."

"Aw, Mystic. When did you get the letters?"

"Maybe an hour ago. A lot of 'em are from you, Marty. You, uh, you kept going when it looks like nobody else did. I wish they had let me see the notes when they first came in, but better late than never, eh?"

"They're pretty basic," he admitted. "I figured they were reading your mail. So I didn't want them to really know anything, y'know?"

"I appreciate it. They didn't – and they still don't – deserve to know."

He looked at her. "Why don't you tell me about your business deal?"

"Oh yeah, I bought myself a ship."

"You what?"

"Yeah! It's kinda tricked out. I'm sure I don't know a good ninety percent of what's really in it."

"And?"

"And I'm gonna tour the galaxy, barnstorming."

"You need a team for that," he pointed out.

"Yep. I'm gonna have tryouts in a few days. I figure I need maybe fifty people of various abilities, and then we'll play whatever sports are out there."

"So, not just baseball?"

"Not just human sports, either, Marty. I, y'know, if they hadn't planted contraband on me, well, I'd've played a lot longer."

"Yeah. You were a good shortstop, even though the _Bluebirds_ stank on ice."

She laughed. "Yeah, I don't think they've ever been any good."

"So, do you need me to help you get on your feet?" he inquired.

"Partly."

"Oh?" he asked. "I know that look in your eye, Mystic. And I can't afford to get into any more trouble than I already have today."

"What kind of trouble?"

"It's nothing compared to you. Tell me what you want."

"Okay. There's, uh, a few things. First off, we took the ship out for a test spin, and we got shot at."

"We? Who's we?"

"I already got myself a pilot and an artist."

"An artist? Mystic, you gotta be more practical than that."

"I know! She also runs Communications."

"Ah, okay. Go on." He paused for a second. "Uh, why were you shot at?"

"We, er, the ship has – don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Huh. I can't endanger the _Enterprise_ , y'know."

"This won't. It's just – it's illegal. I think."

"Mystic, you just got outta stir."

"I know. But it's, well, it saved our bacon while we were being shot at."

He sighed. "What is it that you're talking about?"

"It's an ionization diffuser."

"I've heard of those. And I don't think they're illegal, per se. It's more that Starfleet doesn't use them, and that means there's no real market in the Federation. But I'll check once we've said good night. I think it might be okay."

"Oh, huh, that makes things easier."

"What things?"

"Marty, I think we got shot at not just because of that. We also got targeted because it just looks like a little old independent Gorn ship."

"Gorn? You bought a _Gorn_ ship?"

"Yeah." She clicked around on her PADD for a minute. "Here, I'm sending you what I've got on it so far."

He glanced at the display. "That's an odd design. It's like a bunch of stacked hockey pucks."

"I like to think of it as a big, round sandwich cookie. So I'm naming it the _Cookie._ "

He smiled at that. "The _Cookie_ needs an engineer."

"And a doctor and, God, I could use an extra Tactical person, too. The diffuser is in the back."

"It's not on the Bridge?"

"No, and I bet that was to make it harder to locate and steal if the _Cookie_ 's ever boarded. Say, why doesn't Starfleet wanna use 'em? It came in mighty handy."

"It's a bit like a cloak," he explained. "And they've had, well, bad luck with that tech." He thought for a second. "It's against the Treaty of Algeron."

"The diffuser?"

"No, cloaking tech, specifically. They agreed with the Romulans not to develop it."

"Well, this isn't a cloak, per se. So they might wanna rethink it, at least when it comes to a diffuser, despite the Treaty of Algernon," she said. "It's a neat little toy. And I bet it's not the only nifty toy on this boat."

He laughed a little, "Algeron, not Algernon! Man, Mystic, you, huh, I continue to be amazed and, frankly, shocked that you haven't changed much, despite everything."

"Like I said, I'm being Zen. I'm repressing it all, Marty. I suppose that's unhealthy, but it's been a decent survival tool for the past two decades." She sighed. "I don't wanna talk about me."

"Fair enough. You said you didn't really know what was on the _Cookie_."

"I'm sure I don't. The former owner, he was an inventor. Just a cursory glance around tells me that there's God only knows how much unfinished stuff here."

"What does he say about all this?" Marty asked.

"He's dead."

"Mystic," he asked, "Do you think he was killed for the tech?"

"I have no idea. But I'm thinking, y'know, that if the _Cookie_ had some sort of a connection to Starfleet – even a really tenuous one – it just might get at least some of 'em to lay off."

He thought for a few seconds. "And you want me involved because I'm Starfleet."

"It's not just because of that, Marty. It's also because you're the only family I've got. I, I need someone I can trust – someone who's smart, and who's impartial."

"Impartial?"

"Yeah. And removed, too. You're out there, wherever, doing whatever. And when I talk to you, and I complain about something, or explain it or whatever, I can bounce it all off you. You're good that way; you always have been. Plus," she admitted, "It gives me an excuse to call you every night."

He smiled at that. "You don't need an excuse. Really."

"Thanks. I'm just thinking, you know, your name could be listed, as a part-owner, of both the ship and the team."

"You still need an engineer."

"And I need a doctor, and a Tactical person – yeah, definitely – you'll get no argument from me."

"Let me clear this with Picard. If I can swing it, I'll see about making some inquiries, and get you your crew. Maybe that link to Starfleet can be a little stronger."

"Oh, you're the best, Marty!" she enthused.

He laughed a little. "I definitely didn't feel like the best today."

"It's your first day there, right?"

"Yep."

"So tell me what the problem is," she prompted.

"It's, it's nothing. Compared to your ordeal, it's a walk in the goddamned park."

"Look," she said, peering at him intently, "in a contest to see who had the worst ordeal, I suppose I win that one pretty much every time, and not just with you, Marty. But that doesn't mean I don't wanna hear what's wrong, or try to help you fix it."

"Well, thanks."

"So spill! Don't make me come down there – uh, wherever that is."

"It's confidential," he said. "All I can tell you is we aren't in orbit over the Perseus Trading Post."

"More's the pity. Now," she pulled up the blanket a bit around her body, "tell me your troubles."

"You asked for it," he drew a breath. "I got in and got into the Bridge to meet the captain. And I have done all sorts of homework, y'see. I want it to be perfect."

"And it was imperfect."

"And how! I saw Riker there."

"Who's that? Keep in mind; I've been outta the loop for nearly two decades."

"Sorry, I forgot for a second. Well, Riker is the guy I'm replacing. He just got his own command, the _Titan_."

"Okay."

"So I asked him for some last-minute inside info on Captain Picard."

"He's your new boss? Uh, she?"

"They musta really kept you outta the loop, Mystic. Picard is a he."

"Go on."

"Well, Riker was, damn," Marty sighed again.

"What happened?"

"I suppose it was funny to him."

"What was?"

"He told me the opposite of what I needed to do."

"How so?"

"Riker told me," Marty explained, "that the captain likes an informal Bridge atmosphere, and that I should call him by his first name." He paused.

"So I guess you did."

"'Course I did. I mean, I had no reason whatsoever to believe that he was telling me anything but the God's honest truth, Mystic. And it went over like a lead balloon. I, I felt like I was being humiliated."

She looked at him. "That was nasty; it was totally passive-aggressive. Sheesh!"

"Worst is, I can't say anything."

"Why not, Marty?"

"He's a captain now, on the _USS Titan_. He's very well-respected; he's a hero, the whole nine yards."

"Well, you're nothing to sneeze at, y'know."

"Thanks. But I know it would seem petty."

"Petty? That insensitive jerk took away your sole opportunity to make a good first impression! Cripes! Did anybody see this?"

"Oh, yeah. The entire Bridge crew was there." He shook his head.

"Damn. Whadda they say?"

"I can't talk to them. I'm the interloper."

'Scuse me?"

"You know. I'm the outsider."

"They gotta know you got this assignment because you're good."

He sighed again. "I'm replacing Riker, who they all liked. And just below him was Data, and he's dead. That's the only reason why I'm here, Mystic."

"Data? Who's Data?"

"He was an Android; he sacrificed himself in order to save them."

"So you're replacing the good-time guy and the heroic ghost," she summarized.

"That's about the size of it. People seem to be in mourning, or resentful."

"Isn't there anybody there to try to sort out that mess?"

"Their Ship's Counselor left; she married Riker, actually. They don't have a replacement just yet. The CMO and the proprietor of Ten Forward are filling in as they can. But the CMO's got her own issues, it seems."

"Maybe you can bond over that."

"I dunno. Her son is suddenly back. He was away for a while. I don't really know a lot about it, but apparently he was gone for years and they had no contact. It strikes me that it's kinda awkward between them, and I bet it wasn't before. But keep in mind this is the impression I've gotten after meeting them for maybe a minute earlier today."

"So everybody's screwed up, eh?" She looked at him closely. "I think it'll turn out to just be a minor bump in the road."

"I dunno," Marty made a face, "I, I'm starting to feel like I don't belong here, like I'm in over my head and all that."

"Isn't this just what you always wanted?"

"It is," he admitted, "but it's not quite what I thought it would be, or what I had hoped for. I dunno, Mystic." He glanced at a wall chronometer. "It's getting late. I think we've bent each other's ears enough for one night."

"I suppose you're right. Marty?"

"Hmm."

"We're the _Straight Arrow_ and the _Black Sheep_ again, eh?"

"The _MDM Twins_ forever. Madden out."


	5. 5-Assemblage Begins

**Chapter 5 –Assemblage Begins**

Mack had been asleep for perhaps ten minutes when there was a noise. Years of prison life had conditioned her, and she slept on a hair trigger. She was up in a flash, and grabbed at the intruder quickly.

The intruder was … furry.

"Sorry! Sorry!" It was Crita's voice.

"Wha –?" Mack blinked several times. "Lights!" Sure enough, she had Crita by the scruff of her furry white neck. "Uh, sorry." She released the Daranaean. "What are you doing here?" Silently, she cursed herself for not locking the door. There had been no locks at Canamar, except at the exterior – the thought simply hadn't crossed her mind.

"I, uh," Crita had a pillow and a small blanket with her – too small to actually cover her. "Can I sleep here tonight? Please?"

"What's the matter? Did you pick a bunk too close to where they're working? You can go to just about any of the other bunks, y'know."

"It's, no, the noise level is fine. It's that," Crita admitted, "it is scary, alone at night. I have never slept by myself before."

"What about the convent? Uh, the Daranaean dormitory?"

"They are closed up for the night."

"Daniya's bunk?" Mack asked.

"It is locked. There is a small smell of her pheromones. I suspect she has less control as she sleeps."

"Huh. You're likely right. Hmm, bed's kinda small, but not as small as I'm used to."

"The bed? Oh, no, I can sleep on the floor. That is what we do."

"There's no padding. Don't be silly. Take, uh, take the right side. Don't come onto me, and we'll be fine."

"Excuse me?" Crita was confused, and tilted her head, which gave her even more of a canid appearance.

"Uh, never mind. What's that?" Mack indicated the small blanket.

"My mother gave it to me when I first emerged from her pouch. It still has some of her scent, but that is fading."

"Well, whenever we get to Daranaea, you can recharge it, I guess. C'mon, don't be shy."

Crita cautiously got into the bed. "I have never slept on a raised platform before. How do you keep from falling out?"

"You don't roll a lot."

"Oh. Dana?"

"Hmm?"

"Tomorrow, I can return to the dormitory. I can sleep there a few more days."

"That's probably a good idea. But don't worry. While I'm holding tryouts, I'll see about getting you a roommate. G'night."

"Good night. I thank you."

"Don't mention it, _Puppy Girl_. Computer, dim lights."

" _Puppy Girl?_ "

"You remind me of a puppy. It's meant positively."

"Okay. Good night, Dana."

=/\=

The next day, Marty had a breakfast meeting with Captain Picard, Chief Medical Officer Beverly Crusher and her son, Wesley.

"Mister Madden, how was life on the _Talos_?" asked the captain. "I don't believe I've ever been on it."

"Uh, it was okay – smaller than here. Captain? Can I ask you something?"

"Absolutely."

"I've read the literature on ionization diffusers. It's a technology that seems, to me, to still be in its infancy."

"What's an ionization diffuser?" Wesley inquired as he cut a sausage into pieces.

"It's a device that Starfleet does not use. It skirts the Treaty of Algeron," Picard stated a bit sternly.

"What's that?" Wesley asked.

"Humans and Romulans agreed to not manufacture – or even research – cloaking technology," Beverly explained.

"So it's a kind of cloak," her son concluded.

"It isn't. At least, the one I'm thinking of isn't," Marty stated.

"So, what is it, if it isn't a cloak, Mister Madden?" Picard's tone was a bit more bemused.

"It's, here," Marty grabbed the salt and pepper shakers off the table. "Let's say the salt is the Enterprise. The pepper is a Borg ship."

"The bad guys wear black," Beverly quipped.

"Uh, yeah," Marty said. "This fork," he used his own utensil, "is some other ship, say, a Tholian ship."

"Okay," Wesley said, passing his mother a basket with croissants in it.

"Now, the Borg cube, it figures this," Marty held up the salt shaker, "is the _Enterprise_. They do their best to destroy it."

"If I'm not mistaken," stated Doctor Crusher, "that's what's happening already. Thank you, Wesley."

"Exactly," Marty confirmed, "that's the _status quo ante._ Now, let's assume that the _Enterprise_ is equipped with an ionization diffuser. When we use the diffuser, the strangest thing happens. The Borg scan and they see this," he held up the salt shaker again, "but they think it's this." He held up the fork.

"What?" asked Wesley.

"Would the _Enterprise_ be cloaked?" Captain Picard inquired.

"Not exactly," Marty explained. "It's really just a trick to get the Borg cube's own readings to turn against it. Now, what happens if not only the _Enterprise_ doesn't look like itself, but instead of looking like a Tholian ship, it looks like another Borg cube?"

"The Borg would expect certain behaviors," Picard pointed out, "including boarding the Tholian vessel."

"Maybe," Marty conceded.

"What if the field were increased somehow?" Wesley asked, scraping his plate.

"Increased?" asked his mother.

"The Borg ship – maybe they think they see two other cubes. Is that possible?" Wes asked.

"I dunno. You'd have to ask Myst _–_ uh, Dana." Marty said. "But that would come in even handier, as the Borg don't expect to beam between cubes. Plus, they tend to keep subspace chatter to a minimum."

"It's crude," Picard observed.

"It is; I won't deny that," Marty conceded. "But with development, it could become something really useful."

"But it's still a cloak," Beverly concluded.

"No, Mom, it's really just a means of scrambling sensor data. At least, that's what I'm thinking, but I'd love to confirm that in person."

"Ya wanna?" Marty asked.

" _What?"_ The younger man was incredulous.

"This whole shebang is owned by my cousin, Dana MacKenzie. She needs an engineer."

"Could I, Mom?"

"Wesley, one of the great things about being an adult is, you can do whatever you want with your life, without running it by your dear old mother."

"So you wouldn't worry?"

"I always worry."

"When do you stop?"

Beverly Crusher smiled. "That part never stops."

"How much of an engineer are you really, Wes?" asked Marty. "I mean, this is family I'm talking about. I don't wanna see her hurt if you don't know what the hell you're doing."

"I've got Starfleet training. I've worked with Geordi more times than I can count. This sounds, well, it sounds like quite the opportunity."

"Well, I can't guarantee acceptance or anything. If she doesn't like you, she won't take you on."

"Understood," Wesley said. "Captain, since I'm no longer with Starfleet, this wouldn't be anything official, right?"

"I suppose not," Picard allowed. "Mister Madden, what does your cousin intend to do with, well, I suppose she has a ship, yes?"

"Yes, she does. She's looking to barnstorm around the galaxy, sir. She needs a doctor, too. Doctor Crusher, would you know of anyone?"

Beverly thought for a moment. "I imagine most of the issues would be orthopedic, for playing sports."

"You're likely correct," Picard agreed.

"Huh, then – oh, it could work. I was at an Ikaaran Medical Conference last year. They were a most interesting people."

"Ikaaran?" asked Marty.

"They're empathic healers, Mister Madden," explained the doctor. "But a trained physician would be best, as there are always going to be problems that can't just be healed by touch, I'll bet."

"Do you have anyone in particular in mind?" inquired the captain.

"No one specific, but I can make sure they aren't Starfleet."

"I feel that would be best," Picard said.

"Captain," Marty asked, "she wants me to be a part-owner, of both the team and the ship. Do you think that'll be a problem?"

"I don't have any issues with you holding an ownership stake in the team," Picard conceded. "However, I do think ownership of the vessel – and, by extension, its ionization diffuser – would be far more problematic. I can ask Admiral Nechayev." He sighed very slightly.

"Thank you, sir," Marty said, and then added, "In the interests of full disclosure, you should know, Wes; that my cousin just got out of an Enolian prison called Canamar."

Beverly's eyes widened. "Are we talking about a dangerous criminal here?"

"No, Doctor," Marty assured her, "look her up on your PADD, Wes, and you'll see. Look under Dana MacKenzie – _M-A-C_."

"Okay." The younger man clicked around a bit. "It says here she was drafted in 2349 and played shortstop for the _Titan Bluebirds._ "

"You should look at 2360," Marty suggested.

There was a little more clicking. "It says here the team went to Keto-Enol for a little R & R. They were at some open-air market and she had a bag with her. According to the court records, it says there were drugs planted on her. She served, holy cow, almost two decades, and just got out."

"That's an awfully long time for an appeal," the doctor said sympathetically, "What kind of contraband was planted on her?"

"It was something called _Etrotherium_ ," Marty explained.

Beverly shook her head. "What is that, Doctor?" Picard inquired.

"It's a rather expensive high, I understand. It's a derivative of tricoulamine."

"The nerve toxin?" the captain asked.

"Yes," Beverly confirmed. "It's particularly hazardous as the processing has to be perfect. Otherwise, it's lethal to humans and several other species, including Calafans, Caitians, and Daranaeans, just for starters. If I'm recalling correctly, the street name is _Fugu_."

" _Fugu?_ " asked her son.

"That's Japanese puffer fish," Marty explained. "It's poisonous unless it's prepared properly. Makes sense to me why it would also be the street name for an equally deadly drug."

"Wow," Wes said. "Commander, how is your cousin affected?"

"Right now, she's been quiet about it. I can't honestly tell you how she'll finally, really, react. But so far, so good. I spoke with her last night and she was okay, but didn't wanna think or talk about it. She's remarkably resilient."

"I imagine it was quite the ordeal," the captain said. There was a chime and he checked his PADD. "Ah, Mister Madden, it's time for you and I to head to the Bridge. Doctor, Wesley."

"See ya," Beverly smiled as they departed. She turned to her son after they had left. "I thought you told me you had met a girl."

"I did, yeah, at Will and Deanna's wedding," Wes confirmed. "But I know I'm not ready to settle down just yet. I don't think Lakeisha is, either."

" _Lakeisha?_ "

"Lakeisha Warren. There was the band from the Academy, remember? She was in it. She plays the French horn. She's Second Year."

"I see," said his mother. "Go on."

"I just think, before I get tied down, I should scratch this traveling itch. I dunno what the future's gonna bring. I'm hopeful, but I figure even under the best of circumstances, there will still be hurdles to it all working out."

"Just don't add any extra hurdles, Wesley."

=/\=

On the _Cookie_ , Mack awoke to find Crita gone. Her own PADD was flashing, signifying that there were messages. She first read Crita's _– I will be at the dormitory if you need me. If you have information on the communications system, I could study that. I thank you for last night. A raised platform is so odd! But I was much less frightened._

Then Mack read Daniya's note – _Once you get any info on piloting and navigation, I can start studying it. I'll be in the tavern mostly, reading, and trying to sell my excess stuff. See you soon._

Mack looked over other notes. The Kreetassan merchant had gotten her preliminary specifications. She passed them along to Crita and Daniya.

There was a short note from Marty – _I might have found you your Engineer. Plus I have a lead on a doctor._

She responded with her thanks and sent the note quickly. There were already responses to her advertisement. She instructed the computer to only accept one hundred applicants for the fifty openings, and to retain anyone else in reserve. Then she told the computer to randomly number the one hundred anticipated applicants from one to one hundred.

She padded over to the mess and its working replicator, and got herself a change of clothing and a sesame bagel with cream cheese and a cup of regular coffee. She took all of that back to her new quarters, and made the mistake of looking at more messages.

It was an older message from 2360. "Oh, God," she said aloud to no one. "This is from just as my sentence was starting." Food and clothing forgotten, she opened the note.

 _Misty,_

 _Your father and I are doing everything in our power to get you freed as soon as possible. Your cousin Martin is trying through Starfleet channels. We are pressing the Titan Bluebirds organization to keep your back wages in trust. We are also praying. We love you and we are still proud of you._

 _All my love, Mom._

Mack stared at the note for a while. "May freakin' ninth of 2360. Less than two weeks after I was thrown in the slammer for no goddamned good reason! No trial! No evidence! No jury! No judge! No lawyer! All you bastards wanted was a scapegoat. All you Enolians wanted was someone to take the fall for your drug problem. You didn't really care who was blamed, didja? _Didja?_ What about this, this note? Goddamn you! You never let me see it! You never let me see _them_. You didn't even have the basic decency to tell me when they were killed!

She started sobbing, finding it pouring out of her. It was everything that had been held back while she'd been in Canamar.

It was a good six hours later by the time she finally stopped, feeling dehydrated and exhausted.

There were a few new messages on her PADD. Daniya had written – I've gotten a few buyers for my things. Can you send me information on some of the sports that the team will be playing? I'd like to at least get a passing familiarity.

Mack found information on all human, Tellarite, Vulcan, Daranaean, and Calafan sports, and sent the file.

Crita had written – _I have studied the specifications you sent. I am certain I now know how to correctly mute the sound on demand. The ship appears to have better range than most. What else do you want me to do?_

Mack sent her the same file, and then wrote to both of them – _Sorry about today. Some of it is hitting me. I'll get it together for tomorrow. Thanks for understanding._

There was a note from Marty, but she didn't open it. Instead, she opened a channel to him. "How're you doing?" she asked him.

"I'm okay. You look down. Wanna talk?"

"Not, well, not about myself, not yet."

"Got it. I need to get back to the Bridge in a few. Didja see my notes?"

"I saw you had an engineer for me," she confirmed.

"Ah, you didn't read the second note. He can meet you in two days. He's already on his way. I should be able to get the doctor to rendezvous with you then, too."

"Oh, that's great," she said, a little distracted.

"You look tired, Mystic. Go to bed, okay? We can talk tomorrow, _Black Sheep._ "

"Fair enough, _Straight Arrow_. Thanks for all you did on my appeal, Marty."

"Any time. Madden out."

Marty returned to the Bridge. Captain Picard said, "I'll be in my Ready Room. You have the Bridge, Mister Madden."

"Aye, sir."

In his Ready Room, the captain engaged his computer. "Get me Admiral Nechayev."

"Captain Picard," she said, "To what do I owe this call?"

"My new First Officer informs me that a relative of his has purchased a ship with an ionization diffuser."

"Oh?"

"The woman needs a crew, and wants him to be a part-owner of the ship."

"I see. Well, Starfleet really can't directly be a part of that," she stated flatly. "But the Federation won't have a problem with its regular citizenry serving on such a vessel. However, Madden cannot be an owner or a part-owner. It's technically not a violation of the Treaty of Algeron – at least, it's not against the letter of the treaty, although it would be against its spirit."

"That's about what I told him. She also wants him to become a part-owner of her team."

" _Team?"_

"The vessel will be used for traveling sport, apparently."

"I suppose it's far enough removed. Jean-Luc, a truly reliable, working diffuser would be of great value to the Federation."

"Yet it would also skirt the treaty."

"True," she admitted. "Do you know the name of this relative?"

"He says her name is Dana MacKenzie," Picard informed her.

The admiral checked her PADD briefly. "A nineteen-year Enolian appeal! I imagine Ms. MacKenzie has some tales to tell. Thank you for coming to me with this. Nechayev out."

Once the connection was broken, she engaged communications. "Get me Section 31."


	6. 6-Empathy

**Chapter 6 – Empathy**

On July fifteenth, Mack received a message on her PADD – _Two visitors have come to meet you._

She gathered up Crita and Daniya and the three of them went to the tavern, which was the appointed meeting place. There was a young human man and a dark-haired woman with a notched nose. "I bet you're looking for us," Mack said to them.

The man got up, fast. "Miss MacKenzie?"

"That's right. Call me Mack. You are –?"

"Wesley Crusher. This is Majira."

Mack introduced the two other women. "Tell me why you wanna work for me, Wes."

"I, well, Commander Madden explained to me that your ship has all sorts of things on it. I'd like to check all of that out. For anything that's incomplete, I'd like to try and see if I can finish making it, too."

"I see," Mack replied, "but you do realize that a lot of engineering work is hanging around and checking warp containment fields and stuff like that, right?"

"I understand," he replied, "I, uh, I came to the conclusion that I don't wanna be in Starfleet. Is that a problem?"

"I'd say that's a bonus. How about you, Majira?"

Majira looked at Mack closely. "Give me your hand, please. Your right hand."

"Okay." Mack had a little dry skin on her middle and index fingers. Majira held those fingers and there was a slight glow on her hand and the slightest smell of roasting meats. It was palpable enough that a few people in the tavern turned around briefly. "What the –?"

"Check your fingers now," Majira suggested.

Mack inspected her fingers. "You cured my dry skin. It doesn't even itch. How'd you do that?"

"I am an empathic healer. All Ikaarans are, but I am also a certified physician."

"How intriguing," Mack stated. "Can you do that with broken bones?"

"So long as an organ or joint is comparable in my body, then yes. But for, say, an injured human liver or gall bladder, I cannot do that. My comparable organ is more of a combination. Hence I would need to treat you more conventionally."

"Understood," Mack nodded, "but you could field fix a broken leg, a sprained wrist, a dislocated shoulder, that sorta thing?"

"Absolutely."

"Are there any species you _can't_ heal, no matter what?" Mack paused, and then added, "I don't just mean the comparable organs thing. I mean, no matter what, you can't do anything unless it's conventional."

"Non-humanoid species," Majira explained.

"Fair enough. Xindi Aquatics, Tholians, folks like that, I doubt they'd be looking to join our merry band anyway. Do you both know what I'm looking to do here?" The five of them began to walk toward the ship.

"Commander Madden said you'd be playing sports. I saw you used to play shortstop," Wesley noted.

"That's right. You play any ball?"

"Nowhere near as well as I bet you did."

They stopped for a second and she appraised him. "You're rangy enough. You could play third. How are you at hitting infield defenders?"

"I haven't played in a while," he confessed. "Besides, aren't you hiring people for that?"

"I am," Mack confirmed, "but this is more for demonstration purposes. See, I doubt most people trying out will know a hockey puck from a boxing glove. I won't ding 'em for that. But I'll need everybody here to help with choosing the team. I can't do it all by myself."

"I don't know anything about the skills needed," Majira admitted.

"That's okay," Mack assured her. "You can measure actions, like how far a ball is thrown. I need all of you to help with interviewing."

"Interviewing?" Crita looked like she was about to be sick.

"The way I see it is – we've got fifty openings. We'll let up to one hundred people try out. Every night, for five nights, we'll each interview twenty people."

"Twenty?" asked Daniya. "Whatever would we talk about?"

"I don't think there's enough time, either," Wes pointed out. "Wouldn't that take all day?"

"Take two minutes apiece, and one minute to take notes," Mack explained. "There'll only be one question per day, and I'll provide that. So you take an hour, more or less. Then the next day, you get a new set of twenty people and a new question."

"Just how many days will this process take?" Majira inquired.

"A week," answered Mack. "So we take five days, and we blitz through everyone. On Day Six, we deliberate, and maybe call back people we're unsure about. On Day Seven, we make offers. Every day, we run drills."

"I suspect most will not know your human sports," Daniya stated.

"I don't know Orion sports, so we're even," Mack smiled, "This is basic skills, like, can people swim, can they throw a ball far, whatever. I'll make the initial cut tonight. I saw there were already over three hundred responses to the ad. Ah, here we are." They were in Engineering. "This is Level Three. Engineering and living quarters are here, plus the shuttle bays. Level Two will have the holodeck, the running track, the mess hall, the kitchen and garden and an observation lounge. Level One up top is the Bridge with its Ready Room, but there are also nicer common areas, plus we can store cargo up there."

Wes was already checking out the plasma tubes. "I've never seen retracted nacelles before."

"Pretty nifty, eh?" Mack asked. "It gets hot in here. A lot of that, I understand, is piped back into onboard power, so it's wicked efficient."

"Got it," he murmured, "I'm thinking this was originally a Borg design. I mean, their cubes and spheres don't have separate nacelles. At least, there's nothing that's outwardly visible."

"The inventor was Gorn, actually," Mack told him. "I don't have complete logs, schematics or maintenance records. It's possible I never will."

"I can create schematics as I go, I'm thinking," Wes stated. "This is interesting." They had been walking along a plasma tube, and it suddenly turned several degrees.

"You know why it looks that way?" Mack asked.

Wes thought for a moment. "I think if it all overheats, you've got a chance to get out. You can stand at the joining point, where the two halves of the wishbone configuration meet, and you can control it all without becoming toast." He paused. "Was that right?"

"I have no idea," Mack admitted, "But it sounds good, eh?"

After they'd finishing touring Engineering, they ascended one level and went to look at Sick Bay. "The equipment is fine," Majira looked around, "But it looks as if it's not quite as state of the art as other areas of the ship appear to be."

"Do you need to have anything replaced?" asked Mack.

"Probably not. I'll need room for two cages."

"Cages?" asked Crita.

"Yes, I like to keep Derellian bats. They're also empathic healers, but they're much more limited. But even if there's nothing else they can do, they can still produce an enzyme that's useful in preventing and treating infections."

"How many of these creatures do you really need?" Daniya inquired.

"Just one, but I like having two. That way, they can keep each other company. But they sometimes like a little alone time. Hence I'd need the two cages."

"Neat," marveled Wes. They ascended another level and looked at the Bridge. "Where's the diffuser?" he inquired.

"It's separate," Mack explained as they all followed her. "I'm guessing that was done in order to try to protect it, possibly from theft."

"It might also be," Crita deduced, "that the operator would not be seen on the main view screen by an enemy. Hence, if any prisoners were taken, that more skilled person would not be in additional peril."

"Possibly," Daniya allowed. "But Mack, how will you be the captain and run the diffuser at the same time? We were under attack a few days ago and you had to run back here. I can't imagine you having to do that every single time."

"I figure, for the most part, we'll fly without it. After all, it slows the ship to a crawl. Plus it attracts all sorts of unwanted attention."

"But you'll need someone to fill in for you if you're ever hurt," Wes pointed out.

"Here's what I'm thinking," Mack explained. "We need a chain of command – a First Officer, that sort of thing. All of you will learn how to work this thing," she gestured at the diffuser station, "but nobody else will, okay? They won't even know about it."

"All right," Majira nodded, "But who will be the First Officer?"

"I'm terrible at picking that," Mack confessed. "Maybe you should decide amongst yourselves?"

"I cannot give orders," Crita said, "I fear I am no authority figure."

"Then I guess you can be fifth in command, okay?" Mack asked.

"I fear if I were in command, it would be a disaster."

" _Puppy Girl,_ if the other four of us are out of commission, I'm thinking it's already a disaster. Anyone else?"

"I should be fourth then," Majira suggested, "for it would be best if I were healing, rather than commanding, particularly if the three of you are lost."

"Okay. Wes? Daniya?" Mack asked.

Wesley Crusher blinked several times. "I, I wasn't on the command track at school."

"It doesn't matter," Mack assured him. "It's not like any of this is at all formal, y'know."

"I have no command experience, either," Daniya admitted.

"I'll tell you a secret," Mack said, as a workman went by, "See, I don't, either." She winked.

"Then maybe we should just trade off," Wes offered.

"Are you okay with that, Daniya?" asked Mack.

"Sure. What shall we do if there is any sort of a disagreement?"

"I'll break any ties," Mack decided, "or Majira will, in my absence. That okay with you, Doc?"

"By all means, Captain."

Mack laughed. "Maybe not _Captain_. Maybe you could all just call me _Coach_."

"Okay, Coach," replied Wes.

Once Mack had shown them all how to work the ionization diffuser, she announced, "I'm sleeping on board tonight. Everyone's welcome to just grab a cabin. The workers are done with the holodeck, but the individual bunk replicators are still offline, as I understand it. Plus there's other stuff I've ordered. They'll be working on all of that during the tryout week – which starts tomorrow."

"So, uh, are we hired?" Wes asked, suddenly mindful of the fact that she'd never actually confirmed that.

"Yes," Mack chuckled, "you are both hired. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna get in a run and then figure out who we'll be talking to tomorrow. Anyone can join me in a 5K if you want; I'll be circling the perimeter of Level Two, twice. So, uh, bright and early tomorrow, okay?"

"See you then," Crita replied, leaving for the Daranaean dormitory as the others found bunks on the _Cookie_.

After running, Mack got to her cabin and turned on her PADD. "Voice recognition, response and command mode. Computer, pull up the list of applicants."

 _Working. There are 562 applicants._

"Oh, God, that's unmanageable. Computer, number the applicants in order of their application completion times. Stop the numbering at five hundred, and then use letters and double and triple up the letters as needed. Allow no further applications."

 _Confirmed._

"Mask the ages, names, genders and species of all applicants. Show me a list of all numbers where the following conditions are all met – the applicant provided a medical history _and_ the applicant has listed sports experience, either pro or semi-pro, any sport."

 _List is ready. There are twenty-eight members._

"Okay, prepare a separate list of all remaining applicants, where a medical history is available and any sort of amateur sporting experience is provided.

 _Ready. There are eighteen members on this list._

"Add them to the original list. What's my total now?"

 _Forty-six._

"Sheesh, we're not even halfway there yet. Uh, locate all remaining applicants with any sort of military experience."

 _Ready. There are twenty-three applicants meeting that criterion._

"Add them to the overall list and give me the new total."

 _Sixty-nine._

"Huh. I need thirty-one people. Analyze the list and break it down by gender and give me the totals."

 _There are forty-seven males, twenty-one females and one other._

"Okay. If we compete in gymnastics or any sort of riding sport, I'm gonna need some smaller people. Computer, of the remainder, separate out anyone under two meters in height. How many does that make?"

 _Ninety-four._

"Let's just work with this group for now. Eliminate anyone from consideration who's got a criminal record. I'll be the only yardbird. Eliminate anyone over three-quarters through with the average life expectancy for their species or multiple species if they're a hybrid. How may remain who aren't on my list yet?"

 _Seventy-eight._

"Does anyone in the group under consideration have any Starfleet experience whatsoever?"

 _Two applicants do._

"Add them to the overall list. So are we at seventy-one?"

 _Affirmative._

"For the remaining seventy-some-odd under consideration, scan the overall list and find me applicants who aren't of the same species as anyone on the current overall list. I mean, uh, give me more diversity."

 _There are twenty-four applicants who are members of species not on the current overall list._

"Add them to the overall list. That's ninety-five, right?"

 _Affirmative._

"Show me from the remaining people under consideration; just start a slow scroll of their application information."

 _Working._

"Huh. Attended Andoria University, keep; you don't look that exciting, toss; name-dropper, toss; hunting experience, keep; you look good, keep; looks like you've got a background in smuggling, keep; and, uh, you, keep."

 _List is at one hundred._

"Okay, retain the other forty-some-odd people who were under close consideration – keep them in reserve in case I need 'em. We'll call them the bench. As for the one hundred on the list, randomly renumber all of them, from one to one hundred. Take a letter."

 _Working._

 _"_ _Dear Applicant, you have made the first cut for the team. Report to the_ _ **Cookie**_ _at 0900 hours on the sixteenth. This is your number – keep track of it, as it will be used to identify you in the early stages of interviewing. The selection process will take one week. Wear comfortable workout gear every day and be ready to show_ _physical prowess. On Day Three, the eighteenth, bring swimming attire. I am looking forward to meeting all of you and seeing what you've got."_

She paused. "Sign my name, make sure their number is included in the letter and send the note to everyone and mark it _priority_. Let me know if anyone refuses the invitation and I'll see about pulling in a sub from the bench."

 _All correspondence has been sent. Are there any further instructions?_

"Uh, wake me at 0600 hours. Wake everyone else on the _Cookie_ by then if they're not up already or don't have an earlier wake up call. Send a note to the foreman, let him know we're using the holodeck all week but they can start on the replicators in the living quarters and installing the kitchen and its appliances, and anything else they can accomplish that's away from the holodeck. That's it."

=/\=

Wesley dictated a letter as he unpacked a little.

 _To: Lakeisha Warren  
_ _c/o Starfleet Academy_  
 _San Francisco, Earth_

 _Dear Lakeisha,_

 _I hope you're doing okay and your classes are going well. I remember Astrometrics was a tough class._

 _I wanted you to know, I've taken a new job. It's looking like it'll be fun. It'll certainly be different from what I'm used to._

 _I am going to be the engineer for a traveling sports team. I figure we'll head to Earth a few times, so I hope I can see you then, and maybe hear you play sometimes, too._

 _Let me know if there's anything I can do for you. I know we barely know each other, and maybe it's too soon to be writing this, but I don't believe in playing games. I believe in saying what I feel. So I want to let you know that I really miss you already._

 _Take care,_

 _Wes_

=/\=

Mack was asleep for maybe twenty minutes when there was a communications chime. "Huh?"

"Sorry to wake you, _Black Sheep_. I just hadn't heard from you in a few days. Is everything all right?"

"Oh, uh, hi, Marty." She straightened up a little in bed, but was still groggy. "Sorry. I didn't want to be a pest."

"You are never a pest. So stop worrying about that, okay? I heard from Crusher's Mom that you hired him."

"Oh, uh, yeah, the _Boy Wonder_. I also hired the Ikaaran girl."

"I didn't know the particulars of that. Good. It looks like it's official – I can't own any part of the _Cookie_ , but I can own a part of the team. The brass cleared me."

"Good. I'm doing tryouts tomorrow, and all week, and I'll also try to get us a game, er, somewhere." She moved her arm, and the tank top she was wearing dipped down a bit, showing a hint of her scarring.

"Uh, Mystic?"

"Hmm?"

"You, uh," he gestured at his own chest. "It's, uh, I don't mean to stare."

"When we were kids, you would stare." She adjusted her top.

"Huh, yeah, I suppose I did. You're my second cousin. I don't think it's that inappropriate."

"Don't, um, don't tell me to get this all fixed, Marty. I, I can't, not yet."

"No problem," he assured her, "I won't ask about it either, okay? But if you ever wanna tell me, you know you can wake me out of a sound sleep if you need to, okay?"

"What if you're in the middle of a fire fight?"

"I might be a little distracted then. Look, I can see how tired you are. I'm sorry I woke you up. I was just a little worried, is all."

"I haven't had anybody worrying about me for years," she said. "G'night."

"G'night." He closed the connection and, in his cabin on the _Enterprise-E_ , said to no one, " _You did._ "


	7. 7-A Picture of Fenway

**Chapter 7 – A Picture of Fenway**

The following morning, the five of them met over breakfast. "I've got today's question – actually, all of them, for the interviewing," Mack began. "Plus I added some possible answers. You just check whatever the candidate says, and then add anything else you think is germane, and then move on. It'll be easy."

Crita gulped. "I, I am still uncertain whether I can interview job candidates."

"You'll be fine," Mack assured her. "Look, these are improvisational jobs, okay? All of us will be wearing tons of hats. You were great when we were being shot at. I think a job candidate or two will be a welcome relief."

"Perhaps," the fluffy woman allowed.

"Daniya, did you get everything done you wanted to, er, do?" asked Mack.

"She is referring," Daniya explained to Wes and Majira, "to the fact that I am carrying some debt and am attempting to sell off some of my possessions in order to cover that. It is," she paused, "going all right. I do not wish to impose and ask anyone for a loan or anything of the sort."

"What are you selling?" asked Wes.

"Clothing and jewelry, mostly."

"Huh," he thought for a moment, "I have, uh, at least I think I have, I have a girl. Or at least I met this girl. I was thinking maybe I could give her something nice. What would you suggest?"

"How long have you known this girl?" Majira inquired.

"Uh, a couple of weeks."

"Nothing too personal, then," Daniya cautioned. "Perhaps a scarf?"

"Ya got any for sale?"

"I just so happen to."

The passageway to the _Cookie_ was filled with people of all shapes, sizes and colors. "Listen up!" Mack yelled. "Follow me in. You all got a number when I sent you the invitation yesterday. Be prepared to show the invitation. No invitation, no admittance, understand? Okay, now, two at a time, please."

The initial processing went fairly quickly – only three people were without numbers. They were turned away, but were given the chance to return if they could present their invitations. "All right," Mack announced as they all walked together. "We're going to a holodeck. We stay together – no wandering off. Anyone who wanders off and goes on an adventure is out. I want to keep you in a cohesive unit. I don't mean to sound threatening, but I need for you to keep together."

The other four instinctively helped herd the candidates to Level Two, where the newly-built holodeck was.

Once everyone was in, Mack turned to face them all again. "My name is Mack MacKenzie. Well, it's Dana, so if you want to look me up professionally, use that name. I don't mind you looking. I played shortstop for the _Titan Bluebirds_ , and sometimes second base. That was a while ago, but I fully expect to be playing alongside you. One thing you should know – there are fifty openings. There are a little less than one hundred people here right now. But that does not mean that your chances are fifty-fifty. Because I'll tell ya, there were another four hundred plus people who requested tryouts. If this entire group does not work out, I've got no qualms about dipping back into that bigger pool."

She looked around her. "That having been said, you look, at least on the surface, to all be in decent shape. This job is to play various sports. One week it might be Parrises Squares. Another might be baseball and then the following week we might be heading to Daranaea for one of their competitions. So look around you! Various sports come with varying physical requirements. Some need for you to be tall. Others need for you to be light. Others require aim, or grace or even heft. But they all have a few things in common – you want to outscore your opponent. You want to defend against your opponent. You want to do all of this while incurring the fewest number of penalties."

There was a bit of nodding. She continued. "You will be divided up into groups of twenty apiece. That unit will work together for the first five days of this week. For the first day, one group will be assigned to me, and the other four will be assigned to each of my associates here."

She introduced Wes, Daniya, Majira and Crita before continuing. "Then we'll have quick interviews each night and then the following day your unit will move to the next one of us. By the time the first five days are up, you'll have been with each of the five of us. On the sixth day, we will deliberate and we may call back people for various reasons. I fully expect to make hiring decisions on the seventh day. Now, I wanna see everybody from numbers one through twenty!"

Nineteen people stepped forward, of various sizes. "Okay, today you're assigned to Crita. Step over here. Now for numbers twenty-one through forty." Mack ended up taking the last group.

"Miss MacKenzie?" asked a human male. He was a big fellow, wearing the uniform of the Starfleet Marine Corps.

"Coach is fine. Uh, yes?"

"What happens if we don't know how to play some of the sports?"

"That's okay," Mack assured him. "Right now, I just want to see basic skills and abilities. We'll work on knowhow once people are hired. Today, we're going to work on some really basic skills. This," she picked up an item from a basket, "is a baseball. It's made of horsehide, it's stitched up and its interior is, uh, well, I have no idea what's actually in there. But for its size, it's a moderate weight – it doesn't feel too heavy or too light. Get hit with one, and it _hurts_. Catching one is possible with a bare hand but it's not advisable. I highly suggest you use one of these." She picked up a mitt.

"This is a baseball mitt. It comes in both right- and left-handed varieties. This just so happens to be for a righty, which is what I am. Catchers get bulkier ones. But otherwise everybody else gets pretty much the same style. This," she reached into the basket again, "is a bat. It's a Louisville Slugger, and it's made of wood. Here's what happens when bat meets ball." She moved away from the group and then called out, "Computer! Execute _Fenway Park_ program."

The holodeck was instantly transformed into the old Boston ballpark. She was at home plate, facing the outfield. She tossed the ball up a few centimeters and then whacked it with the bat. The ball whizzed by. "That's a line drive. Here's another thing," she hit another ball, but this time she aimed downwards, and it hit the ground fairly close to her and then bounced up and toward the outfield. "That's what's called a Baltimore Chop. I used to hit a lot of those. Here's one more." This time, she popped up. "That's a pop up. Now, we'll work with the bats later, but the first thing we'll do is work with the balls. So here's how we'll start. Computer, give me the _MacKenzie Toss Program_."

This time, the scene changed to ten lanes that almost looked like they were for lawn bowling, although there were short walls separating them from each other. Each had a basket of baseballs. "Here's what I'd like for you to do. Each team will get two adjacent lanes. Two will throw at a time – one per lane. I want you to throw a baseball as hard and as far as you can. Do that five times. Then the next pair will go, and so on. Once you're done, wait for everyone else to catch up. We will measure. Any questions?" There were none.

Crita watched as a silver Calafan woman and a Xyrillian man tossed. Daniya observed a Bajoran woman and a Cardassian woman hurling the ball. Wes watched a pair of Tandaran men. Majira's charges were both male – a Klingon and an Enolian. Mack's first pair of candidates was the human male who'd asked the first question and a slight woman with floral appendages in her scalp, in lieu of hair.

They watched as people threw. Some were wild. Some were pathetically weak. Others were slow at the task. Finally, everyone was finished. "That was good," Mack praised them. "Of course, there are all sorts of variations in skill levels. I was expecting that. Computer, add strike zones."

"For anyone who knows baseball, you'll recognize what this is. These rectangular lights are meant to show approximately a target. See," she demonstrated on her own body, "pitchers need to be able to throw a ball to any part of the rectangle. For the batter, that zone is about from the armpits to the knees. For fielders, the target is even smaller – it's just the glove of whoever you're hurling to. But those guys are on your team, so they'll move their arms or their bodies in an effort to catch the ball. That doesn't happen with hitters. Now, you may be thinking that I talked about different sports, so why are we spending all our time on baseball. Well, it's the basic skills, like I said. Precision is an awfully nice skill to have. So you'll do what you did before. But this time, you'll only throw about thirty meters or so. Try to hit anywhere within the lit-up rectangle. You'll go in the same order and get the same five chances."

As the candidates threw, the staff took notes. Wesley noticed a Vulcan woman who was able to throw inside the rectangle every time – she was number thirty-seven. He manually drew stars all over her record. "Okay, let's see the next two!" he called out.

Daniya's group contained an Imvari male who could throw hard and far but not too terribly accurately. She noted in his file – _this one may be good._ He was number fifty-two.

Once the accuracy testing was finished, Mack called out, "Computer! Provide baseball mitts for one hundred people. Make, uh, twenty of them lefty." A large box appeared, with the requested equipment. "Now, everybody take a mitt. If you're a lefty, and I haven't had enough lefty mitts made, speak up and I'll have them changed. Same thing for righties. Same groups! This time you will pair up, so there will be four people working at a time."

The candidates began grabbing for the equipment. One rather large Jem'Hadar pulled a mitt away from the woman with the flowers on her head. Mack came over to him immediately. "What the hell are ya doin'?"

"Coach, I am getting a mitt, as you requested."

"No, you aren't. Don't lie to me. You were grabbing. Now listen up, everybody! I know you're all in competition with each other. I get that. I get that some of you are really eager. That's fine. But what isn't fine is if you push and shove each other and undercut one another! I need for you to become a true team, and that means that you get hired on your own merits, and not because you cut the knees out from under everybody else. Do I make myself clear?"

There were murmurs of assent. Mack corralled the woman with the flowers on her head. "What's your number?" she asked.

"Eighteen."

"Okay, now, I'm not gonna ask for names right now. It's nothing personal. Tell me if he or anybody else grabs from you again, okay? You don't have to sit and take it. I need people of all sorts of dimensions, so just because someone is stronger does not mean that they are necessarily a better candidate. Understand?"

"Yes." The floral appendages waved a bit.

"Now go back to Crita's group, okay?"

"Sure, Coach."

As before, they took notes. Majira noticed that number seventy-one – an Enolian man – had a very good sense of where the ball was going, and could position himself correctly every time. She noted in his file – _has a good eye._

Mack's own notes were even more extensive. A Caitian could not throw too terribly far but was a good catcher, opting for spectacular diving displays. A Denobulan was able to throw accurately enough that his catching partner did not have to make too much effort at all.

Once the catching was finished, she called out, "Computer, create fifty Louisville Slugger bats, composed of wood."

 _Accomplished._

"All right. We're gonna play Pepper. Actually, it's modified Pepper, for Wesley and anybody else who knows how it's really done. You'll keep your current pairings. One person will have a bat. The other will have a glove. The one with the bat will do what I did earlier. That person will toss the ball up maybe a few centimeters and then hit it with the bat. The person with the mitt will attempt to catch the ball. Five hits on each side. Let's go!"

This time, there was some fear, visible on the faces of the woman with the flowers, the Caitian and even the Enolian and the Denobulan. Not everyone caught what was hit at them. Once the groupings were finished, Mack called out, "Okay, that's fine. Take a breather. I know that it can be scary. I have been hit by a baseball more times than I care to remember. No one here is wearing anything too terribly protective, either. So I get that, I do, about how it can be unnerving. But don't despair. Baseball is not the only game, and this is, for a lot of you, the first time you have ever done this. Don't sweat it. I know the first time I fielded, I was pretty scared. I was also a child. None of you are, of course, but the point I'm making is – no one is born knowing how to do this. But you'll get there, I swear. Now let's do it a bit differently. This time, I want to see, uh, hang on. Computer, change back to _Fenway Park_ program."

 _Accomplished._

"Okay, we'll do this in the same groups of twenty. One person will hit. The other nineteen will field. But we'll do it this way. See those bases? I want one person on each of them. It doesn't matter whom. Now, one more person, stand on the mound – that's the pitcher's mound. One more goes here, between second and third, see where I'm pointing? That's, uh, five. The other fourteen go into the outfield. Spread yourselves out. Now let's play Pepper again. It's anyone's ball. But I want you to call it. Just yell, 'I got it!' Everybody gets five hits and everybody gets five catches. Once you've made it to five catches, and you've hit five times, you're done and you can sit down. All right? Majira's group goes first."

This time, they were a bit more enthusiastic about catching, but the same people lingered and took longer to get their five catches accomplished. Mack ended up moving them to batting and did some catching herself, just to move things along more quickly. She also noticed that same Jem'Hadar. He was overly enthusiastic, and seemed to be hogging the ball.

Mack continued watching and taking notes. There were still some fearful candidates. But a few of the hitters were pretty good. There was a tall Klingon who had particularly impressive power, but kept fouling. She approached him. "Here, let me show you something."

"Uh, all right."

"The angle of the bat," she explained, "is one of the things that decide the direction of the ball. But it's also your power, where in the swing you make contact, your stance – it's lots of stuff."

"Okay," he replied cautiously.

"So here," she demonstrated as she spoke, "I want you to choke up on the bat a bit. Bend your knees a little. Now, you wanna try to use the barrel of the bat when you make contact. You're hear the difference. What's your number?"

"Uh, it's ninety-one."

"Okay, you'll be meeting with me later. So we'll do this, 'cause I know sometimes it can be a little hard to concentrate on your stance and all that other jazz when you're also tossing a ball in the air – particularly when you're not used to doing this sorta thing. So I'll stay to the side, and do the tossing."

"All right." He positioned himself.

She tossed. He missed the first two, and then got into the rhythm. The fourth hit was loud, and it sailed over the holographic representation of the Green Monster left field wall. "Good job!" she enthused, "You just hit a home run!"

"I take it that's good."

"It's one of the best things you can do in this game. Didja hear the difference?"

"I did. The tone is, it's lower, it seems."

"It's solid," Mack agreed. "Okay, you can sit down if you've already fielded. But nice going."

"Thank you, Coach."

Once everyone had gotten a chance to hit and field, Mack stood in front of all of them again. "That was terrific! Now, let's change things up. Computer, switch to an office program – six rooms. Five rooms should have a desk and two chairs. The other room should be a lot bigger, with ninety chairs. For the five rooms with desks, give them all access to outside the holodeck."

The scene changed. "Okay, people, listen up!" Mack called out. "One of each of the five of us," her sweeping gesture encompassed Majira, Crita, Wes and Daniya, "will be in each of the offices. You'll come in one at a time, for whoever's group you're associated with today. It'll be a fast interview – you're only gonna be asked one question. Answer it and you'll be free for the night, and you'll come back tomorrow morning, at the same time as today."

"What about the rest of us?" inquired a Tandaran male who had not spoken before.

"You'll wait in the bigger area. Oh and another thing – tomorrow you'll be assigned to someone else and we'll be doing different drills. So, uh, here, you first," she motioned to a Xindi sloth in her group. "Once each of us finishes, we'll come for the next person. Sit tight until then."

She and the Xindi left for one of the small interviewing rooms as the other four simultaneous interviews were set up and the remainder of the candidates retreated to the larger room.

Crita sat down with the Jem'Hadar. "So," she nervously began, "I have but one question."

"What is it?"

"I, uh, how do you handle losses?"

"Losses? I do not lose." He leveled his gaze at her.

"But surely –"

"No, **I do not lose** , Daranaean."

"Oh. Uh, thank you. I think we are finished here."

Wes sat down with the woman with the flowers on her head. "How do you handle losses?" he inquired.

"Same as anything else, I suppose. I try to learn from them. I try not to have them happen too often, that sort of thing."

He nodded at her as he typed. "Can I ask you an unrelated question? You, uh, you don't have to answer it."

"Oh?"

"What is your species? I've never seen you before."

"Ah," she smiled as the flowers waved and swayed, "we are called Witannen."

"Where are you Witannens from?"

"The plural of Witannen is Witannen," she explained. "We are from just over into what you refer to as the Delta Quadrant."

"Are the uh –?" he indicated the top of his own head.

"They are called _chavecoi_."

"Can you control them?" asked Wesley.

"Isn't this supposed to be a short interview?"

"You're right," he conceded, "but thanks for telling me a little bit."

Majira coughed a little before speaking with a younger Tandaran man. "Can you tell me how you handle losses?"

"Just in sports, or in other areas?"

"I don't have specifics," she admitted.

"In sports, I let them roll off my back. I pick myself up and I fight another day. In life, though, it all depends. Some are more difficult to bear than others. But I'm a survivor."

Mack saved the talented Klingon for last. "How do you deal with losing?"

"It is a part of any sport. No one has an undefeated season every single time. I study footage of games."

"Whose footage?"

"My own, or my opponents – all sports have offense and defense. I strive to improve both, if I can."

"There are gonna be weeks when you just play and play. There are also gonna be days when you might be riding the pine."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's an old Earth sports expression. It means sitting on the bench. How do you feel about so many changes?"

"I will manage."

Daniya sat down with a Klingon, certain that the woman with the forehead ridges did not approve of her. "How do you handle losing?"

The Klingon thought for a moment, fingers steepled together. "The most honorable course of action is to learn from one's errors, so that they are not repeated. It is also reasonable to investigate any other possible reasons for a loss, such as injuries, miscommunications, or even improper officiating."

Daniya tapped out notes. The Klingon inquired, "Are you aware of which skills will be showcased tomorrow?"

"You know as much as I do," admitted the green-skinned woman. "Uh, you can go. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Very well." The Klingon departed.

Daniya went into the large common area. The only people who remained were the inner circle. "I guess we're done."

"We are," Mack confirmed. "Same time tomorrow, okay? Just pass me your data tonight, and we'll just go to the next number group. If you had numbers one through twenty today, you get twenty-one to forty tomorrow. I had eighty-one to one hundred so I get one to twenty. We'll just do that for the next few days. Great work, everybody."

They all staggered out, exhausted. There was no need for Mack to go running as she had been racing around all day. She opened a channel. "Martin Madden, on the _Enterprise_." She settled into bed.

"A moment," replied the relayer. "Go ahead."

"Hey!" she called out.

"How's it goin'?" he asked, smiling.

"So far, so good. We've got a few who really look exceptional. We'll see if any of the others shine in the next few days. I get the feeling the interview questions will help us weed out and decide among the great mediocre majority."

"Good to hear," he replied, "How's your investment going?"

"The _Cookie_ is coming together. The new holodeck works great! I actually have a cabin replicator, finally. I had forgotten just how sweet they are."

"You didn't have one, uh, there?"

"Nope. It's all a part of punishment at Canamar. You don't even get a shred of independence – not even enough to ask a damned machine for a piece of dry toast."

"I shouldn't have asked," Marty stated.

"No, no, that's okay. It's reality."

They were both quiet for maybe a minute. "How're you doing with _my_ investment? I mean really?"

"The team? Oh, I figure some will be really good. I'll try to keep the worst ones off. I'll start to look into getting us a game or something."

"Maybe try a defense base," Marty suggested. "Those guys are always dying for a diversion, and they'd probably like playing you."

"Huh, good idea."

"Just don't let any of 'em hit on you."

"Is that a danger?"

"Let's just say, for some of them, it's been a while. They might not be so polite."

"Got it. I'm not exactly an etiquette specialist, y'know."

"You'll figure it out," he smiled a bit at her. "How's Crusher working out?"

"So far, so good. I kinda like the Boy Wonder. I bet he's dying to pull apart half of the stuff on here."

"I'll tell his mother."

"You're a good soul." She yawned.

"Mystic, you look really beat. We can talk tomorrow."

"Sure, but first tell me, Marty, are things any better there?"

"Uh, half and half." He put a hand out, palm facing the floor, and waved it back and forth a few times.

"Talk to more people, okay? I do worry, y'know."

"I worry about _you_ , Mystic. Don't overdo it."

"C'mon, where's the fun in that?" She smiled a little. "I'll be okay. G'night."

"Good night."

Connection cut, she was too tired to even eat supper, and slept until morning.


	8. 8-Shots on Goal

**Chapter 8 – Shots on Goal**

They all stumbled back to the holodeck in the morning. Everyone, from Mack's inner circle to the candidates, was exhausted, and the day had scarcely begun.

"All right, listen up!" Mack yelled. "I know you're tired. But everybody's in the same boat. Today we're gonna work on various goal games."

The assembly looked puzzled. She explained, "There are tons of games where the object is to get to – or get a ball, or a puck, or whatever – to a goal. At the same time, the defense's job is to prevent the ball or puck or whatever from getting into the goal. Football – both American and European – those sports are both goal games. Basketball is one. Jai alai is not, and tennis is not, just to be clear. But it's not just humans who play goal games. Truth is, a lot of species play them, and it's because a lot of sports are based on warfare. Think of a goal like a fort, or a hill, or whatever. Think of the ball or the puck or whatever as being a projectile, if that helps."

"Coach?" It was a human male. He was a big guy, with a red and white jersey that said _Heron Eagles_.

"Yeah?"

"I, uh, I just figured out that polo is a goal sport."

"Yes, that's right."

"Are we gonna do any drills like that?"

"Day after tomorrow," she replied.

"Oh, uh, thanks, Coach."

"Now, we'll have the same squads as yesterday; you'll just be assigned to a different one of us. So anyone with numbers one through twenty, you're mine today," Mack announced.

They all looked around a bit, and some of the candidates moved a little in order to be closer to their teammates. As she watched, Majira took note of that, indicating on her PADD – a Caitian and an Andorian seem to understand the concept of teamwork.

Mack spoke. "We're going to change things up today. Each squad will split into four groups of five candidates apiece. You'll race each other on foot, one group of five at a time. The winners will race each other within the squad, so that semi-final round will be five groups of only four races apiece. Then the five winners will all race each other. For everyone who does not win – as you're quite literally out of the running – I want you to begin to put on equipment and work with whatever you don't wear."

"What equipment, Coach?" It was a Denobulan man asking.

"Yes, of course," Mack replied, "Computer, create one hundred pairs of shin guards and elbow pads. Create one hundred hockey sticks and one hundred mouth guards. Create a straight running track, one hundred meters long, with five lanes. Create, uh, fifty field hockey balls."

Crita's squad went first. An Andorian was rather fast, and handily beat his opponents. For her semi-final round, it was close, but he beat two Klingons, a Xyrillian and a Bolian.

Mack's team had no clear winner in its semi-final round, where an Imvari and a Vulcan seemed to have tied. But they had clearly beaten a Suliban, the Jem'Hadar and a Tellarite. "What should we do about this tie?" the Vulcan inquired.

"Uh, Computer, add a sixth lane to the running track," Mack commanded. "Well, there ya go."

Majira's group had finished the first two preliminary heats when an Enolian fell and clutched his ankle. The doctor rushed over.

She placed a hand on his ankle. It glowed, and then the glow transferred to her body. As everyone watched, the glow traveled to her own ankle, and then it reversed its course and returned, eventually, to the Enolian's body. "How's that?" Majira inquired, as soon as the process had been completed.

"I – it is as if I had never injured it."

"Good," she got up, "my abilities are still effective."

"Definitely."

The other preliminary and semi-final heats were completed without incident. The six finalists were the Andorian, the Imvari, and the Vulcan, a Klingon woman, a Caitian woman and the human male with the Heron Eagles jersey.

Everyone else had elbow and knee pads, and was tentatively holding hockey sticks. "It's time for the finals!" Mack yelled. "I want everyone not running to watch. Cheer on your favorite competitors! Be careful with those hockey sticks. The general rule is to not lift them above your shoulders. So let's be careful. Majira's good, but let's not give her any extra work, okay?"

The contestants lined up. Mack retreated to her inner circle. "Care to make a friendly wager?" she asked.

"What's at stake?" inquired Daniya.

"We'll champion our own people. I didn't plan this, but I guess that means I've got two chances to win – but I'll be generous, don't you worry. Crita's got the Andorian, Wes has the Caitian, Majira has the Klingon, you've got the dude in the jersey and I've got the Imvari and the Vulcan."

"And?" asked Wes.

"Hmm. Let's make it a big one. Winner gets to pick the accent color for the uniforms. If I win, I'll give you a few choices and you'll vote, okay?"

"Those are high stakes," Majira mused, "I like my chances. I hope you like green."

"Well, it's obvious that I do," Daniya quipped.

The race began, and it looked as if Majira's Klingon could win. But Crita's Andorian came from behind and won by an antenna.

"What color?" Mack yelled over the sound of some cheering.

Crita glanced at the Andorian. "Blue!"

"Of course!" enthused Wesley.

"All right, that was terrific!" Mack called out. She went over to the Andorian.

"Congratulations."

"I thank you, Coach MacKenzie."

"This fellow here," she said more loudly, "because he won, and because Crita has him on her squad today, she got to pick the accent color for our uniforms. So that'll be blue. But the other five finalists were also really great! Let's congratulate everyone, okay?"

Wesley led some more cheering. The inner circle all noticed that the Jem'Hadar was not taking part in any of that.

Mack spoke, as soon as things had quieted down a bit. "Computer, create fifty lanes. They should all be twenty meters long and four meters wide. Lay grass down, and mark the last meter line with bright white paint, at each far end."

 _Accomplished._

"There won't be any running for this, not really. But the finalists can all rest. You six will sit things out for the moment, but start putting on the equipment."

The guy with the Heron Eagles jersey grabbed the remaining elbow pads and shin guards, and passed them out to the other five finalists.

"Oh, uh, thanks," said Mack, "what's your number?"

"Sixty-two, Coach."

"Well done, Mister sixty-two. I suppose I'll sit down with you at the end of the week. Okay, for the other ninety-four of you – divide into couples. For the four of you, who are the odd men or women out of your own squad, just pick one of the other leftover folks. Just, you'll have a buddy."

There was a little hesitation. The Jem'Hadar selected a Calafan woman. Mack tapped out a note on her PADD – _he thinks he can easily intimidate her._

At least that broke the ice, though, and the forty-seven pairings were made. "Wes, c'mere a sec," Mack beckoned. He ambled over. "You ever play hockey?"

"Maybe once," he admitted.

"That's okay. Just borrow a stick."

They both took sticks and Mack bade him to stand a few meters away from her. "Computer," she commanded, "make two quick temporary white lines right, uh, here, and five meters over there."

 _Accomplished._

"All right, here's what you're gonna do. You've got a hockey stick. Here," she indicated the line, "is the goal. You hold the stick like this," she demonstrated, "and you try to get the ball past the line. You can only move the ball with the stick. No kicking, no throwing – nothing but using the stick. Your opponent will be trying to do the same thing. When the ball comes close to the goal, I want you to defend the goal. You can only use the stick. Just try to get the ball over to the other side, all right? Everybody will get into a lane and my colleagues and I will look in on you as we go. But we can't watch every single second for every single pairing. Therefore, I need for you to keep track of things."

"You mean we keep score?" asked a Klingon woman.

"You got it. You get one point every time you get the ball over your opponent's goal line. But I also want you to keep track of saves. It'll only count as a save if the ball is within an imaginary box around the goal. That box is two meters in front of the goal. Here, Wes, get a ball."

"Ready." He dropped the ball between them. "Are we starting with a face-off?" Mack nodded, so he continued, "The puck or ball starts in the middle. You leave it in the center, and then you count down from there. Then you both try to hit it. Now, watch me and Mack."

They counted together. "Three, two, one!"

Wes got control of the ball first, and pushed in toward the goal. Mack stayed with him, to his right, and then she let him get slightly ahead and moved behind him, and to his left. This time, she stuck her stick in, and managed to get control. Turning, she slowed down as she went back to the other goal. Wesley got ahead of her and turned to defend.

As the candidates watched, Mack shot on the goal. The ball went past Wes, and he failed to prevent her from scoring.

He got the ball out with his stick and began to bring it down the shortened practice field. This time, Mack ran ahead of him, turning on the speed she had used for years to steal bases. She stopped in front of her goal and faced him. She batted the ball back once, but the second time he shot on the goal, she failed to adequately defend, and he scored.

"Let's explain that," she suggested to Wes.

"Right. Okay, did everybody see that?" he asked. "We've both got one point, plus Mack got a save. Now, did you see her steal the ball from me? That's perfectly legal. She noticed that I'm right-handed, so she came around on my weaker side, my left. She was able to dislodge the ball that way, and then shoot on my goal."

"You'll do this for, uh, twenty minutes," Mack told them.

The playing began. The Jem'Hadar was, as expected, pushy and intimidating, but the Calafan held her ground. Nimbler and smaller than he, she lost the face-off but had little trouble stealing the ball again and again.

The Tandaran man was paired up with a Xindi sloth. They didn't do so well, and nearly came to blows a few times.

A Klingon woman and an Enolian male volleyed several times, never getting as far as either a shot on goal or a save, instead stealing the ball from each other, time and time again.

A Denobulan man defended particularly well, but had trouble getting control of the ball. His opponent, a Calafan, was able to shoot on his goal several times, but she was only successful twice.

"All right, time!" Mack yelled once twenty minutes had elapsed. "That was great. For whoever you're assigned to, tell them your scores and we'll record those."

"What about us?" asked the Andorian who'd been the overall winner of the earlier foot races.

"Not to worry," she replied.

They recorded the scores. The Jem'Hadar claimed two more goals than the Calafan claimed he had earned. "This female is cheating me!" he bellowed. "But I can see why. We are in a competition here, and you are afraid that you are, huh," he snorted, "too weak to be chosen."

"We will be the judges of that," Crita told him. "Not you, I am certain."

"Who asked you, Daranaean?"

Majira got between them. "While we are hardly testing courtesy here, surely you must realize that you may end up working together."

"Right," Mack interjected, "So knock it off. Actually, that gives me an idea. Computer, get rid of half of the grass practice corridors and double the width of the remainder."

 _Accomplished._

"Here's what we'll do. Your opponent in the last exercise is going to be your teammate. Pick any other team as your opponents, so long as they're in the same squad. Any leftovers, see me," she paused, "and for the winners of the foot races, are you okay doing this, or do you want to practice first?"

"I feel I could try," allowed the Caitian. The Imvari and the Andorian nodded.

"I will make the effort," stated the Vulcan as the other two grunted in agreement.

The pairings evolved until the entire set of twenty-five matches had been created. "You will play to, uh, eleven points," Mack decided. "I want you to keep track of points and saves just like we did before, but also of assists. An assist is when you're within, let's say, five meters of the goal and you pass the ball to your teammate who then scores. So teamwork counts! Ready? And, go!"

While the teams were playing, Crita motioned to Mack. They walked over to a side. "Are you seriously considering the Jem'Hadar? He is rather frightening."

"He's also very physically capable," Mack informed her. "But, Puppy Girl, I need people who can play on a team. If he can't, then it doesn't really matter how good or how strong he is. Any of these other people," her sweeping gesture encompassed all of the playing fields, "could conceivably get just as strong, or almost as strong. It's a competition, sure, but Majira's right – they've got to be able to become a cohesive unit."

"Understood."

"We'd better go back and watch them," Mack suggested.

The first team to reach eleven was composed of a Gorn and a Vulcan woman. They were in Wesley's unit. "Nice going," he told them, and then he mentioned to their opponents, who were the Tandaran and the Xindi sloth, "That was a really good try. Sometimes you're just outmatched. But I saw what you did. You hung in there, and you kept plugging."

"Thank you, Coach," said the Tandaran.

"Oh, I'm no coach," Wes stated, "But I'll make note of how you did, and be sure to tell Mack."

The last team to get to eleven was the Klingon woman and an Enolian. They were on Majira's squad. "That was hard-fought," she praised them, "and your opponents also played well. It was very impressive – all four of you have impressed me this day."

"All right!" Mack called out. "We're all done except for interviews. Computer, make the same office configurations as last night.

 _Accomplished._

"First up for me, uh, let's talk," she motioned to the Jem'Hadar to follow her as the other members of her inner circle selected candidates for interviewing.

Once the door was closed, Mack bade the Jem'Hadar to sit down. "I gotta hand it to you," she began.

"Oh?"

"You're rather physically strong."

"Yes." It was as if she had confirmed the gospel truth.

"But your attitude stinks."

"I am competing for a spot on your team. Shouldn't I show you my enthusiasm? Shouldn't I be trying as hard as I can to be selected, by you and your associates?"

"Not at the expense of the others. There are fifty slots. You honestly think taking someone out is gonna help you?"

"I have done nothing wrong."

"Technically, that's the truth. But you ran into one racer's lane, you did your damnedest to intimidate your Calafan opponent, and you even accusing her of cheating."

"It may not make a difference for me to, as you say," he made air quotes as he spoke, "take someone out. Perhaps that does not matter, not when it comes to my own candidacy. But it may make a major difference for a weaker candidate, such as that Calafan."

Mack thought for a moment. "Hang on a second." She tapped a hasty note out on her PADD.

 _We'll have swimming tomorrow; be sure to bring a suit. Stronger swimmers are asked to arrive at 1000 hours. Weaker swimmers can arrive at noon. Decide whether you are a strong swimmer or a weak one. Use your own best judgment. Not everyone knows how to swim. You will not be penalized for self-identifying as a weak swimmer._

She addressed it to the entire pool of candidates and hit send. "Now," she turned back to the Jem'Hadar, how do you handle winning?"

"What will tomorrow's question be?" He smirked. "Will you wish to know how I handle tie scores?"

"No, smart guy." Mac wasn't doing a very good job of hiding her displeasure. "Just answer the damned question."

"Winning happens so frequently that it's nothing much to get excited about unless it's for something truly stellar."

"And?"

"When I win such a stellar prize, it," he cast about for the best word, "amuses me."

"You lost the foot race today. How does that make you feel?" she asked.

"I already answered that question yesterday."

"Well, I haven't read the notes yet, so spill."

"The conditions were artificial. A race with all of the candidates running at the same time would have been fairer."

"I like the way we ran the races today," Mack snarled, "It was plenty fair. You got a chance to dominate a small field, and then you went up against a second small field. It's not my fault that you didn't beat the Suliban and that Vulcan."

"It is still inherently unfair. How were the first heats decided? I mean, how did you decide who would compete against whom? It was random, more or less, yes?"

"That's right," Mack confirmed. "So consider yourself lucky, that you made it to the semis at all. Dismissed."

Mack walked back to the common area and motioned to Majira. "Since I took the Jem'Hadar, go ahead and take the guy in the Heron Eagles jersey. I'll try to get him tomorrow, I guess, and you'll get the Jem'Hadar then."

"All right," Majira tapped the human male on his shoulder.

"I thought I was meeting with Coach today."

"Tomorrow."

"Uh, okay."

They sat down together. "Tell me how you treat winning," encouraged the doctor.

"I, I like to win," he admitted. "I guess that's nothing too surprising. But I, you know, I like it because it feels good. I celebrate a bit."

"I see. How do you celebrate?"

"It kinds depends. I mean, if it's just something small, I just cheer or something like that. For a really big thing, I'll be pouring champagne over someone's head, I'm thinking."

"That must be some odd human custom," Majira observed. "I thank you."

Crita sat down with the Andorian. "My question today is about winning. But it seems a bit redundant as you have already demonstrated, today, how it makes you behave."

"I suppose," replied the blue-skinned alien. "There is one thing I have learned about winning."

"Oh?"

"I have learned that it may not last. I feel it is best to learn from it, in order to attempt to duplicate such positive results."

The interviews proceeded without incident. By the time they finished, the entire inner circle was even more exhausted.

"Tomorrow," Mack announced, looking at the four of them, "we can sleep in a little. It'll be swimming, and we are not gonna spend too much time on it. So there will be two groups, and they'll each get two hours. Then we'll do interviews. We all deserve an easy day, and so do the candidates."

"Do you expect us to swim?" Daniya's tone was skeptical.

"I expect you in swimming gear, yeah. But we're not gonna do that much. We'll start with the skilled people and end with the unskilled. They'll self-select. See ya tomorrow."


	9. 9-Water

**Chapter 9 – Water**

When Mack got up the following morning, her PADD was flashing, a sign that there was a new message. She opened it.

 _Mystic,_

 _You'll need a lawyer, to handle the players' contracts and any scrapes you might get into with your ship. Please let me do the legwork on that. I'm just sitting here, doing nothing. I want to be your true partner, and help._

 _Go easy,_

 _Marty_

She tapped out a quick reply.

 _Straight Arrow,_

 _Go for it. Thanks – I never would've thought of that._

 _Baa from the Black Sheep_

There were seventy-one candidates, waiting, when Mack and her inner circle arrived. Approximately half of them were already in swimming gear. "Thank you all for coming. Computer, create two private changing rooms. Make the men's room big enough for, uh, twenty people at a time. Make the women's room big enough for ten. Provide lockers, showers and towels."

 _Accomplished._

"Anybody who isn't ready yet, please get ready. Anyone who is already set, hang on. Computer, create a swimming pool. Depth should go from one and a quarter meters at the shallow end to three meters at the deep end. Make the pool, uh, one hundred meters long and fifty meters wide. Create ten well-marked lanes going the long way."

 _Accomplished._

"Okay, ready people; I wanna see ten volunteers, from any group, to race first."

The human male stepped forward, as did the Jem'Hadar and a Calafan, Vulcans and others. The Imvari, who was not yet dressed, came up to her. "Might I ask something, Coach?"

"Uh, just a second, okay? Now," her voice was loud again, "the race is just the length of the pool. You can use any stroke you like, but if you wander into someone else's lane," she peered at the Jem'Hadar as she said that," you'll be automatically disqualified, even if you win the race. Daniya will keep time for this round, then Wes will, and then Crita will, okay? It'll be just like yesterday, where the winners of the heats will race each other at the end. Computer, make five whistles, on lanyards."

 _Accomplished._

The articles were laid out on a towel at poolside. "Here," she gave each of the members of her inner circle one. "Blow this to start races and end them. Any ties, we'll just let them both qualify for the finals."

"What about the people who don't make it to the final round?" Majira inquired. "They'll be standing around, with nothing to do."

"Right," Mack thought for a few seconds as people filed in and out of the two dressing rooms, "uh, those people will root for whoever wins their own heats. You can be in charge of that."

"Ready!" Daniya yelled, "The race will begin when I blow this whistle." The group of ten gazed at her, expectantly. "And, go!" She blew the whistle.

Mack finally turned to the Imvari, who was still waiting, "Yes?"

"Coach, which dressing room should I use?"

Mack stared at him for a second, a little dumbfounded, and then said, "Oh damn! I had forgotten. You're, uh, you're not exactly male or female, am I right?"

"Not precisely," the Imvari confirmed, "at least, not as you define those genders. And, actually, the same is true of the Xyrillian, although I see that one has self-identified as female."

"Do you wanna use your best judgment, or do ya want your own changing room? It's no trouble."

"I suppose I can wait," the Imvari stated, after thinking for a few minutes.

"Sure thing."

A whistle was blown, and Daniya called out, "We have our first winner!" It was one of the Vulcans. She went up to that person, a female. "I thought Vulcans didn't swim."

"We do not do so very often."

"So how did you win, if you don't have a lot of experience?" the green-skinned woman inquired.

"I simply used the most efficient stroke. It was the most logical course of action."

"Definitely." Daniya looked up, "let's get the next group going!"

Crita came over to Mack. "I believe Daniya is enjoying herself."

"No doubt."

There was some murmuring, and they turned. The Imvari had emerged from one of the changing rooms, wearing what could only be described as a man's singlet swimsuit from perhaps the 1920s. The outfit included a pair of knee pads.

"Are you ready?" Mack asked that candidate.

"I am."

"Knee pads?" she inquired.

"That is, uh, Coach, they are covering my genitals."

"Oh! I shouldn't have asked." Red-faced, she retreated over to where Wes and Majira were standing. "Did either of you know that?"

Wes shook his head. Majira stated, "I was uncertain. It is uncommon though hardly impossible. I will likely have more issues treating that person than many of the others, even the men."

"I'll keep that in mind," Mack mused, as Daniya blew the whistle again and called for the third set of competitors.

As the races progressed, they tapped out notes. Daniya was so thoroughly immersed in managing the races that the rest of them just let her do so. They got to the seventh heat.

"Computer," Mack called out, "create one extra lane."

 _Accomplished._

The final eleven competitors got into the shallow end and waited expectantly. They were a Tandaran, a pair of Klingons, the Imvari, two Vissians, three Andorians and two Suliban. Daniya yelled, "Ready! Wait for the whistle! And, go!" she blew the whistle, loudly _._

Everything was going along just fine until they got to the deeper end of the pool. The two Suliban were slower than the others. As the inner circle watched, they both began to flounder. Wesley was closest, and he dived right in. One of the Suliban went down, and then the other did. Mack acted on instinct, and dived in, in order to help him. They grabbed the two Suliban and pulled them to safety. Sputtering and coughing, the two were unceremoniously dumped on the perimeter, just outside of the pool.

Mack hoisted herself up until she was sitting at the edge of the pool. "What the hell just happened?" she asked angrily. "You coulda gotten yourselves killed!"

Wes got out of the pool. His tone was gentler, but he was equally upset. "That was really dangerous," he scolded.

"What were you thinking?" Mack demanded.

"Dana," Crita interjected, "please. _"_

That brought Mack up short. "Uh, look," she said, much more calmly, "I know you're in a competition here. But this is not like claiming to be a faster runner than you really are. This is a lot more serious. Swimming badly is a hazard. It's practically as bad as not knowing how to swim at all."

The two Suliban looked down. "I got an idea," Wes stated, "since the next group is the amateurs, why don't they just stick around for the later session?"

"Good idea," Mack agreed. "Now, here, for anyone who isn't in the finals, you can either get changed or root for whoever you like. Once the finals are done, we'll start the interviews. Everybody will then be free to go except the two of you."

Some of the slower competitors took the opportunity to get dressed as the seven finalists got into the shallow end of the pool. As before, Daniya managed the race. The race was close, but the Vulcan edged out the Imvari.

"All right, that was good," Mack told them all. People were already coming out of the dressing rooms. "We'll mainly start by interviewing anyone who's dressed. Computer, create the office configuration we've been using for the past couple of days."

 _Accomplished._

"C'mere," she beckoned to the human male, even though he was still dripping wet.

Once in the little office, they sat down together. "Ready for your question?"

"Sure, Coach."

"What will you do if you see poor officiating?"

"Huh, well," he thought for a moment, "I can't say I won't be upset. The first thing I would do, though, is I would tell you. I know you're more likely to be able to do anything about it than I am."

"What if it's the heat of the moment?"

"I can't say I wouldn't yell, Coach."

"Fair enough."

"Coach," he added, "I know about fouls and penalties – probably more than these other people do. If I get in a brawl with an official, I could get kicked out of a game, or we could get fined."

"That's true."

"So, the way I see it, if I stay outta that kinda trouble, that's better all around. If it's really bad, you'd just take it up with the commissioner, or something."

"A lot of these sports won't have commissioners," Mack pointed out.

"I guess not. It's hard to say what the right thing is, then. If the team is getting unfair rulings all the time, well, what would you see to be the remedy, Coach?"

"Probably never playing in a particular area again, whether it was a sport or a system. But you're right; it's hard to know what to do. Thanks."

"Uh, Coach?"

"Hmm?"

"I just want you to know that I really, really want this. If you go in my records, in my background, you'll see that I washed outta Starfleet Academy. I failed the shooting test for the MACOs, too."

"I see."

"Maybe it's stupid of me to be telling you about my failures. Maybe I should just be larding up my talk with successes."

"You tell me." She thought for a moment. "Which school is the Heron Eagles?"

"Oh, that. That's Proxima Centauri College."

"You a graduate?"

"I'm a dropout," he admitted, "I guess it's another of my many failures."

"Hey, you at least own 'em. I'll see ya tomorrow."

"See ya."

The remainder of the first group of candidates filed out – all except the two Suliban, who were still in swimming gear. They approached Mack as soon as they realized she was free. "I – we – would like to apologize," began the shorter of the two of them. "We did not realize you would be so, so displeased at our lack of skill."

She looked at them. "Do you remember the note I sent out yesterday? I said that it wouldn't hurt anybody to self-select as being a weak or inexperienced swimmer. But the two of you went the other way. It's – you need to understand – that was a downright dangerous stunt that you pulled."

"We will strive to do better," vowed the other one.

The remaining twenty-nine candidates arrived. None of them were dressed for swimming. Mack sighed as she looked at them. "I need for all of you to go and change into swimming gear. We'll wait."

Once they'd entered the changing rooms, she commanded, "Computer, reduce the depth of the water and the sides of the pool by, uh, one meter at the deep end. Tell me the current dimensions of the pool."

 _The pool measures one hundred meters long and fifty meters wide, and is divided into eleven well-marked lanes going lengthwise. The depth is one and one-quarter meters at the shallow end and two meters at the deep end._

"Good. Okay," she indicated the Suliban, "you're both back in the water with the first group. Just go in the shallow end. Wes, you'll be in the pool with me."

"All right," he replied, hopping in.

The remaining candidates began to come out of the changing areas. A Caitian looked particularly miserable. Once they were all out where she could see them, Mack spoke. "I need seven or eight folks to go into the pool. You'll just get into an unoccupied lane."

"Is it very deep?" inquired a Xindi sloth.

"It's one and a quarter meters at the shallow end. The deep end is two meters," Mack replied.

"That is above my head," he stated. Others, including the Caitian, nodded in fearful acknowledgement.

"It's okay," Mack tried to assure them. She thought for a moment. "Here, let's do this. Everybody needs to get in the pool. Crita, Majira, Daniya, this means you, too."

The Xindi sloth and the Caitian hung back. "It is very upsetting," the Caitian finally squeaked out.

Mack was about to go over there, but Crita arrived first. Gently, the Daranaean explained, "There are many, many things that I am fearful of."

"Truly?" asked the Caitian.

"Absolutely. But water is no longer one of them. May I tell you why?" The Caitian nodded, so Crita continued, "It is because I have learned to swim. I am – you need to understand – I am neither graceful, nor am I swift. But I can move from place to place, and I can keep myself out of danger. Do you know the first thing that I learned how to do?"

"N-no."

"I learned how to put my face into the water. The first time, it was just for a few seconds. My eyes were shut tight, and I shook with fear. The second time, it was a little longer. The third time, it was longer still. I do not recall when, but eventually I opened my eyes under the water. It looks very strange, you see. I can show you how I learned all of that, if you like."

"I would like that," the Xindi sloth volunteered, "It is, as a species, we are simply not comfortable with large bodies of water. But I can see that, having a plan of attack – that might make things easier."

"It might provide some confidence," opined the Caitian, "for I am sorely lacking in that area, when it comes to the water."

"Why don't we just do that?" Mack suggested.

"Uh, Mack, can I talk to you in private a sec?" Wesley asked.

"Sure. We'll be right back. In the meantime, if anyone wants to just put your face in the water – no matter for how long – feel free. Crita, Daniya, Majira, if you could take notes, then that would be great, thanks."

He shepherded her to the men's changing room. Once the door was shut, he asked, "What do you think we'll learn from this? That Caitian, and those Xindi, they're really scared."

"I know. I don't honestly expect a lotta swimming. Right now, all I really wanna see is if they'll do it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, any of the people in the first group, except for those two Suliban, they'd be fine for a swim meet, or surfing or sailing or water polo, even. I don't honestly expect anyone in this second crowd to ever be doing that. But if they'll at least try, I think that'll be the key." She paused for a moment. "See, I'd love knowledge, and skill, and strength. But I won't get that from most of these candidates. I'm including the stronger swimmers when I say that. So if I can't get strength or knowledge or skill, I would at least like to get cooperation and working together as a team."

"Plus those people could learn. Then you'd get your knowledge anyway."

"Exactly. If they work out and practice enough, I might just get my strength and my skill, too." She slapped the side of his arm lightly. "C'mon, let's get back out there, before they start to wonder what's taking us so long."

When they returned to the pool area, they saw that everyone was at least in the water. There was the distinct aroma of wet fur, most likely emanating from Crita, the Caitian and the two Xindi.

"Well?" Mack asked, making an effort not to react to the smell.

"Almost everyone has, as you requested, placed their faces into the water," Crita reported.

"Oh, that's great!" Mack gushed. "For anybody who's already done that, feel free to change, and wait for interviews, okay?"

Twenty-five people left the pool and proceeded to the two changing rooms. "All right," Mack surveyed the remaining people. As would be expected, the Caitian and the two Xindi were left over, but so were an Andorian, a Takret and a woman with flowers in lieu of hair – the Witannen.

"Do we really have to do this?" asked the Takret.

"Let's do this," Mack began improvising, "the eleven of us will get into a circle, and we'll hold hands. We'll just go around the circle, one by one, putting our faces underwater. Everybody will do it, and you'll see that we're all okay."

Reluctantly, the candidates got in a circle. Mack shuffled people around until most of the candidates were between two of the members of the inner circle. She had the Witannen woman on her left and the Caitian on her right. "I'll go first," Mack volunteered, "and we'll go, uh, clockwise."

As she had suggested, she briefly dipped her face into the pool. The Witannen brought her face close to the water and the flowers on her head dipped down faster than the rest of her. "See," she explained, "this is why I do not enjoy swimming. The chavecoi would rather drink the entire swimming pool." She hesitated for a second, and then dunked her whole head briefly.

They went around the circle, to Wesley, and the Takret, then Daniya, and one of the Xindi, and then the other, then Majira, then the Andorian, and then Crita.

It was just the Caitian who remained. She was tearful. "I, I do not wish to be uncooperative," she moaned, trembling, "but I am so very frightened. Please, I will do anything but, but this."

Mack thought for a split second. "It's okay," she decided, but made a mental note.

"Here," let's switch," Mack suggested to Crita after they'd changed back into street clothes. "I wanna talk to the Caitian."

"Certainly." Crita approached the Takret and they entered one of the interview rooms together.

Mack came over to the Caitian. "I know it's not scheduled, but you and I are gonna talk today."

"All right," the Caitian replied quietly, following her into one of the interview rooms. Once the door was shut, she turned to Mack and pleaded, "Please do not be cross with me."

"It's okay. You were just pushed too far. I'm sorry. It was too much." The Caitian nodded, so Mack continued. "I'll start with my standard question for the day, okay?"

"By all means."

"What would you do if there was poor officiating?"

"I, well, I know that can be, it can be horribly unfair. I would look to you, and see if we would lodge a formal protest of some sort. If you would, that is."

"All right, and what if the problem persisted?"

"I think that my role could potentially be that of a bit of a peacemaker. I am certain that it could become rather frustrating for some. But I can generally remain calmer."

"Generally?"

"Well, you saw me in distress today."

"Let's talk about that. Is there anything else that scares you that badly?" Mack inquired.

"I, I do not know."

"Did you look me up?"

"Should I have?"

"Just look up Dana MacKenzie on your PADD." She waited as the furry felinoid clicked around.

"So you are a former convict?" The Caitian stated, after reading a bit.

"I am. Do I scare you?"

"No," the Caitian replied, "I saw that it was a false accusation, and you have been exonerated, but that is not why I am unafraid."

"Oh?"

"I feel you are; that you can be trusted. Don't ask me why I have drawn such a conclusion. It is a feeling that I have, you see."

"Hmm, well, okay, dismissed."

Once the interviews were completed, everyone in the inner circle went to dinner at the tavern, except for Mack.

First, she suited up and ran five thousand meters around the perimeter of the second deck. She got herself two slices of vegetarian pizza for supper and sat at her desk to eat them. She turned on her PADD for the first time that day. There were a few flashes, signifying that she had new messages.

The first was from the foreman for the work crew assigned to the _Cookie_. It just said, _We'll be done tomorrow_. She tapped back a fast acknowledgement.

The second was from a law firm she did not recognize, Koenig & Brooks. It said, _Martin Madden suggested that I contact you – CM Yarin, Esq._

She responded, _Things ran late tonight, can I contact you tomorrow?_

The response came nearly immediately – _I have court at 0900 hours; it is expected to run until approximately 1700 hours. Kindly contact me after that._ She wrote another fast acknowledgement and then opened the final note, which was from Marty, _I found you an attorney. He comes under Picard's highest recommendation._

She replied, _So far, so good, he's written to me already. Too tired to call you tonight, but I do miss talking to you. Sleep tight, Straight Arrow._


	10. 10-Get On

**Chapter 10 – Get On**

The inner circle breakfasted together, in the Cookie's newly completed mess. "What's on today's agenda?" Majira asked as she spread cream cheese on a sesame bagel.

"Something requiring a bit more finesse," Mack informed them. "We'll be working with animals today."

"Horses?" Wes asked, before tearing into a Mexican frittata.

"Maybe. Tell me, if anybody knows, does anybody ride sehlats?"

"I beg your pardon?" Crita inquired before placing a forkful of sausage into her mouth.

"Possibly young Vulcan children do," Daniya opined, "but I am uncertain. I imagine you could pose such a query on your PADD."

"Definitely," Mack allowed, "but even if no one does, I think that'll be what we do today. We'll play polo. With sehlats."

Wes started laughing. "You're not serious."

"I am," Mack winked at him before having a spoonful of oatmeal. "Here's how I see it," she put down her spoon, "it's not the game and it's not the score. It's a little like the swimming yesterday – I wanna see who'll actually do it."

"Who is compliant?" asked Daniya. She got up. "More coffee, anyone?" Majira handed over a mug.

"Compliant but also adventurous, right?" asked Wesley.

"You're catching on," praised Mack. "We're gonna be asked to do all sorts of odd things. If they all balk, every time, then we can have the greatest athletes in the history of the galaxy, but it won't amount to a hill o' beans if they won't play the sports."

"Shall we discuss the candidates?" Crita asked.

"Day after tomorrow, okay?" Mack replied. "Let's keep observing and fact-finding until then. Let's try not to influence each other."

Later, the one hundred candidates stood in the holodeck together. "This will be another goal game," Mack said, "but it won't be like what we've played before."

"For the past few days," Daniya added, "you have been showing off muscle. But today, you will show off more finesse."

"Exactly," Mack agreed. "I recall someone, uh, you _,_ " she indicated the human male.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you," she confirmed, "You mentioned polo the other day."

"Oh, uh, yeah, I guess I did."

"Computer," commanded Mack, "make me ten arena polo fields, side by side. Give me eighty polo mallets and ten balls."

 _Accomplished._

"How is polo played?" she asked him.

"Uh, there are four people on each side, and the object is to get the ball past the goal posts."

"Right. Now, we've got players and fields, and balls and mallets. What's missing?"

"Well," he thought for a second, "you need either bicycles or ponies."

"Right," she confirmed. "We won't be using bikes, and we won't be riding ponies," she paused for a moment. "But we are going to be riding something _._ "

"It's not conventional," Wes explained, "but we aren't going to be on Earth much."

"That's correct," Mack stated, "but there are any number of games in the galaxy that are kinda, sorta like this. So instead of ponies, we are going to be riding a very different type of animal. Some of you are very familiar with these creatures. The others, not so much."

"What are these mysterious animals?" inquired the Caitian.

"Computer," Mack commanded, "make me eighty tame sehlats of various sizes, large enough to ride."

If the Vulcan candidates had been interested in showing their emotions, they all probably would have laughed. Instead, eyebrows were raised. "This is highly irregular," stated a Vulcan woman, "sehlats are telepathic creatures."

"I know," Mack agreed, "but, as we have already explained, "irregularities are going to happen. We can either sit everything out until we find some nice, safe, regular games to play, or we can embrace the odd."

"The odd?" inquired the Witannen, as the flowers on her scalp changed color.

"Definitely _,_ " confirmed Mack.

"I imagine that if we continually wait until conditions are perfect, that they never will be," Crita opined.

"How do we know which one to, uh, ride?" it was the human guy asking.

"Just pick one," Mack suggested, "I don't think we need to really stand on ceremony. You ever ride a horse?" she asked him.

"Yeah. But it was a Western trail ride, and it was quite a few years ago," he admitted.

"Understood," she answered, "and that's okay; you'll just try." More loudly, she addressed all of them, "I don't expect experience. I don't even expect a lot of skill or finesse or scoring. What I am looking for is effort."

The Caitian tentatively approached one of the big beasts, and began to stroke its furry shoulder. Obediently, it knelt down. "Do I just climb aboard?" she inquired.

"I am thinking, yes," confirmed Wes. "Right?"

"You got it," Mack was already taking notes on her PADD.

=/\=

On the _Enterprise-E_ , Jean-Luc Picard sat in command. "Mr. Madden," he said to Marty, "take command for a moment. I shall be in my Ready Room."

"Yes, sir," Marty got up from his seat.

Once in the Ready Room, Picard commanded, "Computer, get me Admiral Nechayev."

 _Ready._

"Jean-Luc, what brings this call?"

"We took a number of scans recently, of the Denab system," he reported, "and there's a bit of chi radiation in this sector."

"How very odd. I don't believe we've seen much of this since, well," she thought for a moment, "I'm unsure exactly how long it's truly been."

"My thoughts exactly. I shall have a small away team take a reinforced shuttle out, to see if they can't pinpoint the source. I'll get researchers to investigate, and see if they can get a handle on what this is."

"Perhaps it's a natural phenomenon," the admiral opined.

"I don't believe so. It's a beam – and its shape and trajectory suggest an artificial origin. I suspect that it's the remainder of one form of weapons fire or another."

"Keep me posted. Nechayev out." Once the connection had been cut, she tapped out a fast message on her PADD – _Get on that team by any means necessary._

=/\=

 _The games began. They were loud, and disorganized, even for the Vulcans. Often, the sehlats were simply not under good control. They weren't dangerous bucking broncos, but forward movement was often unpredictable, if it happened at all._

 _Then, finally, something must have clicked. The Caitian leaned over and whispered in her sehlat's ear, and the big beast began to lumber down the field in a straight line. It got her near the ball. She leaned over, mallet in hand, and whacked it, hard, toward a goal._

 _Everyone looked up from whatever they were doing, or trying to do. Even the Jem'Hadar blinked several times._

 _A few of the other candidates had noticed what she had done, and tried it for themselves. This included the Vulcans, who had been trying various forms of mind melds without much success – a meld on a nonsentient holographic being was hardly possible, they had learned. The rates of success varied. Perhaps the beasts were responding to tone of voice, or even to the words that were being said to them. Even the Jem'Hadar tried that trick, and he managed to get his sehlat to cooperate, too._

 _Play resumed, and forward momentum was much more assured. Once one team had gotten to three points, Mack decided she'd seen enough. "Okay, we'll do this!" she bellowed. "First team to three points wins their game. You can dismount and hand over to anyone who hasn't played yet." There were four candidates in each squad who had not yet played, for a total of twenty. Sehlats began to change riders._

 _This time, success occurred considerably more quickly. Mack cornered the Caitian. "So, what did you tell the big fellow?"_

 _"_ _I told him that this was important, and he needed to go forward unless I leaned one way or the other."_

 _"_ _He obviously understood you."_

 _"_ _I suppose," replied the felinoid woman, who then added, "Today is so much better than yesterday was."_

 _"_ _I can see that. See, this is why I want a diverse group. You never know what we'll be doing from day to day or week to week."_

 _"_ _I am only glad," she stated honestly, "to be able to show you something positive. Thank you for this opportunity."_

 _Once the games had all finished, Mack commanded, "Computer, create the usual office configuration."_

 _Accomplished._

 _"_ _Before we start interviews, I have an extra question. You'll answer it on your PADD and you'll mail it to me. You will use your numbers in the_ from _field and will not use your names."_

 _"_ _The question?" inquired the Tandaran._

 _"_ _Just a sec," Mack said, and then tapped and sent her note._ _What did you tell the sehlat today?_ _"_ _Okay, ready? It's time for interviews."_

 _The interviews went as smoothly as ever. There was one question –_ _what will you do if a teammate is threatened?_

 _Daniya had the Jem'Hadar, and she asked him the question. He peered at the green-skinned woman. "We are a team, yes? A threat to one is a threat to all. We will take care of it."_

 _Mack interviewed the Caitian, who replied, "I imagine that many would wish to fight. But I suspect that would be trouble. I would tell you, Coach, or one of your close helpers, I think."_

 _Crita asked the human guy, who responded, "A bench-clearing brawl doesn't do anyone any good. I can't promise how I'd be during the heat of the moment, but I'd rather not be getting hit with penalties, or suspensions, and I wouldn't want that to happen to any of my teammates, either."_

 _Majira spoke with the Takret, who said, "That's often a tactic to get someone kicked out of a game. It's unpleasant, but the best thing, really, is to hold the insulted person back."_

 _Wes asked a Klingon the same question. Time passed as he thought. Finally, he spoke, "Does that happen very often?"_

 _"_ _It can."_

 _"_ _It seems unfair and dishonorable. We are doing a job, and are performing a task. On any other job, if a person were hurling insults, they would be disciplined. They might even be dismissed. But I believe it happens in sport, and the players either brawl, or they shrug it off. There seem to be disadvantages to both approaches."_

 _"_ _Which one would you pick, if you were forced to choose?"_

 _"_ _Personally, I suspect that I would withdraw, and would likely encourage my teammates to do so as well."_

 _"_ _Do you see your role as being that of a peacemaker?" inquired Wes._

 _"_ _For Klingons, there are questions about such a role. Therefore, not always. But here, yes."_

 _The interviews were finished earlier than expected. Mack collected her inner circle._

 _"_ _What shall we have them do tomorrow?" asked Majira._

 _"_ _I want to keep tipping the scale in favor of grace. We've had too much brawn, and need to scale back on that and give the smaller folks a chance to shine."_

 _"_ _Gymnastics?" Wes asked._

 _Mack shook her head. "Probably only the Caitian and that, that, uh, the_ _flower girl_ _could be any good at that."_

 _Wes laughed a little. "She told me her species is called Witannen."_

 _"_ _Oh, uh, well, her. But it's like I said, I don't want a 98% failure rate."_

 _"_ _I imagine you would do well to test on aim, then," Crita opined._

 _"_ _I believe most if not all of these activities involve some form of aim or another," Daniya pointed out._

 _"_ _Right," Mack's tone was distracted. "Look, I'd better go. I've gotta get my own workout in, and then I've gotta call a lawyer."_

 _"_ _Lawyer?" Daniya asked._

 _"_ _He'll do contracts work, that sorta thing. Comes under Marty's – er, Commander Madden's – recommendation, just like Wes and Majira did."_

 _"_ _I am under Beverly Crusher's recommendation, actually," the physician clarified._

 _"_ _Well, I still trust his judgment. He got us ole Wes here, eh?" Mack paused. "The workmen say they're done. So go over your bunks, and see if you need any modifications. Crita, I guess you can move all your stuff in now."_

 _"_ _I will," replied the furry woman._

 _"_ _Let me help you," Wesley volunteered._

 _"_ _See," Mack explained, "he's a keeper."_

 _After she had run the same five thousand meter course as always, and had showered, Mack changed into an oxford shirt and a pair of tailored slacks. "I hope this is businesslike enough," she muttered to no one, as she sat down at her desk. She then clicked a bit on her desktop computer until she had contacted a communications relayer. "I'd like to talk to Morgan Yarin, he's a lawyer at, uh," she searched a little on her PADD until she had found the name, "the firm's name is Koenig and Brooks."_

 _"_ _Connecting you now," replied the relayer._

 _It was a man who was likely old enough to be her father. He was thin, a little underfed, perhaps, and with a face that was mostly nose. "Yes?" he asked, in a voice that was a bit nasal. He had a British accent._

 _"_ _I'm Mack – er,_ _Dana_ _–_ _MacKenzie. Are you Morgan Yarin?"_

 _"_ _I am. You're right on schedule. Commander Madden tells me that you've got a sports team, and a rather interesting ship."_

 _"_ _I don't quite have the team yet, but I do have the ship."_

 _"_ _I see. Have you offered anyone employment?"_

 _"_ _Just an inner circle of four people. None of them are expected to play regularly."_

 _"_ _But they would irregularly?" he asked._

 _"_ _If we need a full American football squad, and a lot of people are down with, I dunno, Rigellian Fever, I might end up having to tap them."_

 _"_ _Very well. So we shall assume they are not playing." He clicked on a PADD. "There, I have sent you a standard athletics contract." He clicked a few more times. "This one is for the members of your inner circle." He looked up._

 _"_ _Thanks."_

 _"_ _Now, about your ship."_

 _"_ _Yes?" Mack replied._

 _"_ _All I know is that there is, er,_ _something_ _on it which is skirting legality. But there may be other devices which cross that line entirely."_

 _"_ _Exactly. I've got an ionization diffuser – that's what the commander was probably hinting around about. As for the rest of it, I dunno. My engineer hasn't really looked yet – he's been busy helping me select my team."_

 _"_ _All right. Now," Yarin moved a little closer, "you and I have full attorney-client confidentiality. I am not going to go to the authorities if you tell me something illegal is afoot, unless you or anyone else is in relatively immediate physical peril."_

 _"_ _I understand."_

 _"_ _So if your engineer finds something that is, shall we say, off the grid, you can tell me. In fact, I would prefer it if you did, so I'd have an idea of what to expect."_

 _"_ _Got it."_

 _"_ _Now, you're the sole owner of the ship, but you and the commander will co-own the team. What is your full name? I shall require it for the documentation."_

 _"_ _Misty Dana MacKenzie."_

 _"_ _Your partner in owning the team, he has given his full legal name as being_ _Martin Douglas Madden_ _."_

 _"_ _Yep, that's right."_

 _"_ _I should like to set you up as a_ _D/B/A_ _–_ _it's a bit like a partnership. What would you call this venture?"_

 _"_ _Uh, let's call it_ _The MDM Twins_ _."_

 _"_ _All right, what is the name of your sports team?"_

 _"_ _The Black Sheep_ _. You ever play sports?"_

 _"_ _Just tennis."_

 _As soon as Mack got off her call, she ordered, "Computer, pull up the list of responses to today's extra question. Sort them by response, and group together any identical or near-identical responses. What I mean by_ _near-identical_ _is, anything where a verb tense differs, or it's a plural versus a singular, or the use of contractions. How many are in the largest group?"_

 _Twenty-seven._

 _"_ _What does that one say?"_

 _Go forward and I will give you food._

 _She chuckled a little at that. "How big is the next biggest group?"_

 _There are fourteen members of that group._

 _"_ _What did they say?"_

 _Obey me, or I will harm you._

 _"_ _Interesting. Any other groups of ten or more?"_

 _There is a group of eleven._

 _"_ _What did they say?"_

 _Please move forward._

 _"_ _Eleven polite people, eh? So that's, um, that's fifty-two responses. There are forty-eight left, yes?"_

 _Negative._

 _"_ _Huh, I wonder if I counted wrong. How many are left?"_

 _Thirty-four._

 _"_ _Wait, has anybody failed to respond?"_

 _Affirmative; fourteen candidates have not yet responded._

 _"_ _Uh, okay, keep track if any of them fail to respond by 0800 hours tomorrow."_

 _Acknowledged._


	11. 11-Volley

**Chapter 11 – Volley**

The morning brought with it another meeting of the one hundred candidates and the inner circle. Mack stood in front of them. "There are four people who I didn't get a response from as of this morning. Computer, make two changing rooms, just like from two days ago."

 _Accomplished._

"I won't peek. While you're changing, you can reply to my note from yesterday. To refresh your memories, the question was, what did you say to the sehlat? If the answer is nothing, then tell me that, too, all right? I expect my questions to be answered, even when you don't know, or you need more time, or you think the question is dumb or the truth might make me angry. Trust me; I'll get a lot angrier if I don't hear from you, than if I hear nothing whatsoever. Understood?"

Everyone was silent. Finally, the human male – who was again wearing a Heron Eagles jersey said, "Yeah, I think everybody gets that now."

"Okay," she stated. "Now, I need for everybody to change into shorts and short-sleeved tops. Wear sneakers. Replicate anything you didn't bring with you."

People started to file into the two changing rooms. Mack called, "Computer, make ten tennis courts. Provide forty regulation rackets of various weights and four hundred tennis balls. Add seating for sixty-five spectators."

The human fellow returned quickly. "Aha, I was thinking it might be this. But I haven't played in years."

"Not to worry," she assured him. "You're still way ahead of anyone who's never even seen a tennis court before."

Once everyone was changed, she picked up a racket and a few tennis balls. "For those of you who really do know how to play tennis, this isn't going to be perfect. We are going to play mixed doubles, as much as we can. The ratio of males to females is uneven, so there will be some all-male teams. And, uh …," her voice trailed off as she saw the Imvari, who was again wearing knee pads.

She collected herself. "And, uh, there will be a team that's male and, uh, other. Anyway, here's how it'll work. C'mere a sec," she beckoned to the human fellow. "Majira, Wes, you, too."

The teams positioned themselves on either side of the court. "Normally," she explained, "the person serves and then we go back and forth until somebody fails to return or the ball goes outta bounds. A serve would need to clear the net, and the serving would always be overhand."

The human fellow was standing next to her. He asked, "So, what'll be the differences, Coach?"

"Glad you asked. First off, you can serve underhand, like this," she demonstrated, "or overhand, like this." Again, she showed them what she was talking about. "Most people find underhand to be easier, particularly when they're getting started. We won't care about clearing the net. You'll just serve until you do, so you can have, I dunno, thirty chances or more to get the ball over the net. But I want you to keep track of any time it takes more than two tries to get the ball over the net."

The human fellow retrieved the two served tennis balls and handed them back to her. "Thanks. Now, I want you to try for a volley. A volley means hitting the ball back and forth, from one team to the other. Normal tennis strategy is to hit the ball where your opponent isn't, and to stop the volley. But we won't try to do that. Instead, I want you to think of this more like an aiming drill. Like so."

She served the ball, overhand, and it bounced near Wes, who volleyed it back to the human guy. He hit it back to Majira, who hit it into the net, thereby ending the volley. "That's fine," Mack encouraged. "Many of you will probably do that quite a bit to start. You'll get four of these volleys per server, no matter how long it takes you to get the served ball over the net, or how long the volleys take. Some people might get the ball over in one try, and then it isn't returned more than once. It would be quick, but it'll count just as much as someone taking five times to get the served ball over the net and then go through an average of twenty volleys or whatever. Just take turns."

She paused for a breath. "The volley ends either like we all just saw, or the ball is hit out of bounds and isn't returned. Keep track of whatever your longest volley is. Once you're done with your sixteen volleys, let another set of four have their turn. Oh, and try to work with your teammates, people! A long volley is good, but that doesn't mean you've got license to just hog the ball! Be generous and spread the love around."

She and Wes and Majira went to the side, where Crita and Daniya were standing, as the games got underway. "What are we looking for?" Daniya asked.

"Power, aim and teamwork, I am thinking," Majira replied.

"Exactly, my friend," Mack confirmed.

=/\=

On the _Enterprise-E_ , Martin Madden gathered together a small away team, including a man from off the ship, who had been borrowed as a courtesy. "I've been reading up on chi band radiation, and there's more to tell but I've already got some ideas," he reported, "It looks like it has some interesting applications."

"Oh?" inquired the Chief Engineer, Geordi LaForge.

"It was a part of the Genesis experiment. There are researchers who think it might have time travel applications. But it's also pretty hazardous, and it may be the byproduct of the use of cloaking devices, possibly interphase generators."

Lieutenant Barclay – he was the borrowed fellow – looked up. "No wonder you wanted two engineers."

"Exactly," Marty confirmed. "Glad _Pathfinder_ could spare you. I've got no idea what we're really dealing with. B-4, do you have any ideas?"

"It would be premature to speculate at this juncture," replied an android.

"Uh, all right," Marty was a tad nonplussed. "Let's make this a good mission."

They flew a shuttle as close as they could safely get to the radiation, and began taking scans. "It's strange," Geordi reported, "but it's almost like the radiation band is shifting."

"Shifting?" Marty inquired.

"See," Geordi explained, "our universe vibrates on a twenty-one centimeter radiation band. But beings from other universes don't. Dr. Leah Brahms was here, it was a good decade ago. We had a problem with this – I don't know what you'd call it – it was almost like some sort of strange, huge space baby."

"I think I remember this vaguely," Barclay interjected as he continued his own scans.

"Go on," Marty encouraged.

"Well, the thing was feeding off our energy. It would've drained the ship of all power if we hadn't intervened," explained Geordi.

"So, what did you do?" Madden asked.

"We were able to alter a power frequency to briefly change the radiation band. This caused it to back off. We got it where it needed to be, and that was that."

"Are you saying," B-4 inquired, "that this so-called 'space baby' has returned?"

"I dunno," Geordi admitted. "But this is a shifting radiation band. Huh, hang on, if I feed the vibrations in, we might be able to almost hear it." He fiddled with controls, and there was a sudden ping, followed by a few more, in a seemingly random pattern.

"What would happen if the shifting were to slow down? I mean, if the band was shifted, and then it stayed that way for a few minutes, maybe even up to an hour or so?" Marty speculated.

"It could, in theory, create an interphasic rift between two universes," B-4 reported.

"If this isn't some sort of a natural phenomenon," Marty concluded, "then there's someone out there, trying to punch a hole between two universes."

"That is a logical assumption," confirmed B-4.

=/\=

"Okay, that was great!" Mack enthused as the last of the sets ended. "Now, stand over here, to my left, if you were able to get all four of your successful serves off on the first try,"

A pair of Vulcans stepped up. "All right," Mack continued, "and I wanna see any teams that had at least one volley go for ten or more passes."

"Total, or per side?" inquired a Tandaran.

"Good question. Let's make it total." This time, four full teams joined her.

"And, uh," Mack thought for a moment, "I'd like to see anyone who served overhand, uh, at least three successful times." This time, two more people joined her –a Klingon and a Xindi sloth.

"These ten people will play for the finals. But we'll mix up the teams. Daniya, pick new teams, okay? They'll be teams one through five. Try to make them more or less even, please."

The green-skinned woman got up. "Very well. You two, please, first." Once she was satisfied with the placements, she added, "We are ready. Computer, eliminate all courts but two."

"Team one will play team two, and team three will play team four. Team five will sit out the first matches. Then team one will sit out and you'll go for five rounds until you've played all four of your opponents and have sat out once. Let's see how you do. Play until, uh, three points," Mack stated.

A Calafan woman returned serve after serve from the Klingon, who got more and more exasperated, finally breaking a racket in frustration as the Calafan's team – she was paired with a male Xindi sloth – cruised to an easy victory.

As the playing continued, Mack told the spectators "Feel free to start changing your clothes in anticipation of the interviews. This might take a while." She continued watching as each of the two Vulcan's teams also claimed early victories.

 _The games ended after a while. "That was very good," Mack praised. "Looks like team two," that was the Calafan and the Xindi sloth, "has three victories._ _Undefeated!_ _Way to go! Team four has two victories and the other teams all have one win apiece. This was very well done. Thank you."_

 _The ten finalists retreated to the changing rooms. Mack called out, "Computer, create the same office configuration we've been using for the past few days."_

 _Accomplished._

 _"_ _Before we start the interviews," she announced, "I want you to know that, for some of you, this may very well be your last real chance to impress. Tomorrow, we might not call everybody back. I'm not sure yet. But you won't get the true official word until Sunday, the day after tomorrow."_

 _"_ _Uh," Wes indicated the Jem'Hadar, "let's go." Inside an office, he asked the grey-skinned alien, "What would you do about poor team chemistry?"_

 _The alien peered at him. "That is the coach's job, and not the players'. It is not up to me to fix such issues."_

 _Daniya spoke with an Andorian, asking him the same question. "I believe that we, as the players, can help with that. It does no good if we do not get along."_

 _Crita and a Klingon male met. "I'd like to say that we'll always work well together – but we both know that that's not always how it is. Still, I think the best any of us can do is to try to make it so that any conflicts do not begin with us, or at least do not escalate with us."_

 _Majira and the Caitian met. "Huh," said the fluffy felinoid, "I try to get along with everybody. I know that's impossible, but I do try. I think most people do. I guess the best we can do is to lead by example."_

 _Mack sat down with an Enolian. The fellow spoke. "Personalities, er, strong ones, that is, they are bound to occasionally clash. But there will be several opportunities for dissimilar teams to form. Different sports require differing skills and different numbers of players, yes?"_

 _"_ _That's right. If I hire you, I can very well guarantee that you wouldn't be playing every sport, every single day. Nobody will."_

 _"_ _Precisely. So individuals who did not get on would have a chance to cool down, and be separated from one another."_

 _"_ _That's true," Mack allowed, "but I'm not going to pick teams one way or another, just because two people don't like each other. I'd much rather pick them based on who's likely to score the most points, or be the best in defense. I don't want to have to try to juggle any personalities while I'm at it. It's gonna be hard enough to get this right."_

 _"_ _I understand," replied the Enolian. "But we are not interchangeable parts, yes? Our personalities will come out, no matter what, I imagine."_

 _When they were done, Mack got her inner circle together. "Tonight, I want you to send me two notes. One will have your top five picks. These are people you would hire tomorrow. And, if we're unanimous, we will."_

 _"_ _What if I have more than five on that list?" Crita asked._

 _"_ _Limit it to five but keep any others in your back pocket, okay? Now," Mack replied, "the second note will be the five people you_ don't _want hired. Same rules will apply – unanimous choices will be pretty much automatically out, and hold onto any more than five. We'll have breakfast tomorrow at 0800, to discuss this. See ya then."_

 _Mack got her own workout done and went to call Marty, but his PADD went straight to a message. "Huh," she muttered, "message for Martin Madden._ _Marty, I'm close to making some decisions. I trust you're just busy. Call me when you're free, no matter how late that is_ _." She paused. "Computer, send message."_

 _Accomplished._

 _She heard a few_ _dings_ _, a sign that she had messages. "Computer, my votes are as follows._ _To be hired – number 62, the human guy; number 37, a Vulcan woman; number 16, the Jem'Hadar; the Caitian woman, number 43 and the Witannen woman, number 18. To not be hired – both Suliban, one Vorta, one Xindi Reptilian, one Xyrillian_ _, fill in the numbers. Keep a record. Cross-reference to the votes from the other four members of the inner circle. Are there any unanimous votes?"_

 _Affirmative._

 _"_ _Tell me the specifics."_

 _There are unanimous positive votes for the human male, the Witannen and the Caitian. There are unanimous negative votes for the two Suliban candidates._

 _"_ _Prepare but do not send form rejection notices for the two Suliban candidates. Prepare but do not send form acceptance letters for the three unanimously chosen candidates. Enclose a standard player's contract for each of those three positive notices. Did anybody make both lists?"_

 _Affirmative. Candidate number 16, the Jem'Hadar, has been given one positive vote and four negative votes._

 _"_ _Interesting. Who else got at least one positive vote?"_

 _There are two votes for candidate number 37, a Vulcan female, and two for the Calafan female, candidate number 11."_

 _"_ _Consistent to the core, eh? Who else got the negative votes?"_

 _There are four negative votes for the Xyrillian, the Vorta and the Xindi Reptilian._

 _"_ _Okay," she said, "put together a record – add all of the information we've compiled on all of the candidates, not just these extremes. Include the answers to all of the interview questions, the notes, the answers to the sehlat question, any scores and anything else, plus whatever preliminary data I had on anyone, and anything the candidates put in their applications or might have added this week._

 _I wonder why Marty's busy."_

 _Please repeat the nature of your inquiry._

 _"_ _I wasn't talking to you."_

 _=/\=_

 _Marty wasn't available because he and his team were still taking scans. "I think," He finally said, "that we might have enough. I want to make it clear – this mission is confidential." There was another_ _ping_ _as the radiation band shifted again._

 _"_ _Confidential?" asked Barclay._

 _"_ _Yes," Marty confirmed. "The applications of this chi radiation, they're numerous. Some of those hit_ _Top Security_ _level. At least a few of them are off the grid, in terms of legality."_

 _"_ _You mean the cloaking application," Geordi theorized._

 _"_ _I do," Marty confirmed. "Captain Picard's gonna wanna review this data, but it might be problematic if it goes public. With, uh, with the_ _Pathfinder_ _project, Lieutenant," he said to Barclay, "I'm thinking you can just mention the confidentiality and leave it at that, right? I mean, are you gonna get the third degree if you're not so forthcoming?"_

 _"_ _I don't think so," Barclay surmised._

 _"_ _Perhaps," suggested B-4, "the Lieutenant's presence could be explained as a means of adding a fresher perspective to a preexisting confidential project. It need not be specified that these are newer findings."_

 _"_ _I'll see what Picard says," Marty decided. "Let's get back to the_ _Enterprise_ _. Great work, fellas."_


	12. 12-The Magic Seven

**Chapter 12 – The Magic Seven**

The following morning, Mack was up early, and noticed a note on her PADD, from Marty. It just said – _Late night last night. Got the documents from the lawyer and signed them. Talk to you soon – MDM_

She tapped out a note to her inner circle – _If you have anyone else you really want, up to 45 more names, make a list. Try to rank them. We'll talk about this all day today._

She then wrote a note to Marty – _Just about ready to hire. Let me know if you have any objections to any of these._ She then attached the entire list of 100 candidates, and headed to breakfast with her inner circle.

They sat together in the _Cookie_ 's kitchen. Mack flipped pancakes as the other four waited. "I think the only other person I have ever seen cooking is Commander, uh, Captain, Riker," Wes stated.

"Oh," Mack commented.

"You sound like you don't like him."

"He played a somewhat unkind practical joke on my cousin," Mack clarified.

"Oh," Wes thought for a second, "that was the guy! My friend Geordi told me about it. He said it seemed to be a bit much, that here was this brand-new officer who didn't know anything, and Riker just kinda ran over him. The guy didn't deserve it at all, and it just seemed to be kinda mean. I guess I didn't put it all together that it was pulled on Commander Madden."

"What was the trick?" Daniya inquired, helping herself to some orange juice.

Wesley explained. "That is rather passive-aggressive," Majira stated.

"How is your cousin now?" asked Crita. "I know I would have been mortified."

"I think he's okay now," Mack surmised, "but he was pretty peeved there for a while. He wants very much for this to go well. I got the same impulses about our team." Her PADD dinged. It was a response from Madden. "Speak of the devil, and he appears. Hang on a sec – I asked him if he objected to any of the candidates."

The response just said – _I trust you, Mystic, in this and all things. Keep me posted – MDM_

She read it quickly to herself. "He's okay with whoever we pick. Now," she turned off the burner and brought the plate of pancakes over to the table, "we have already unanimously picked three people. It's the human guy, the Witannen and the Caitian."

There were smiles all around. "This is a good start, yes?" asked Crita.

"It's an excellent start," Mack confirmed. "We have a few people where there are four yes votes. But I won't tell you their names, not just yet, okay? If you've got yes votes on five more people, send 'em over while we're eating. Don't send any more just yet. I only want your top five. The voting has been pretty consistent, so I'm guessing this could put a few of the candidates over the top, and into plus five territory."

"Will everyone need to be unanimously selected?" inquired Majira.

"I don't think so. But I think unanimous vote-getters are great. If we agree on them, then they've gotta be really good choices, don't you think?"

As they ate, PADDs were clicked and data was sent. All Mack did was program her PADD to inform her if anyone had made it to the level of a unanimous choice. The PADD dinged when it was done. She read off, "We've now got unanimity on the Vulcan woman, the Calafan woman, the Imvari and the Andorian guy. Right now, it looks like everyone else just has one vote, if they've been voted for at all. So we'll stop this method, and instead I wanna talk about today."

"Oh?" asked Wesley, adding a little extra syrup.

"It'll be small games and small teams. Whether accepted or rejected, or somewhere in between, we'll bring everybody back. We won't say anything, but we won't be worrying about our seven unanimous choices, unless they really badly screw up. We'll be watching the other 93 for the most part, and not just on their own merits, but also on how well they work with our _Magic Seven_."

They headed to the ship's holodeck as soon as they could. "Computer," Mack commanded as soon as the one hundred candidates had arrived, "Create five regulation basketball courts. Add five men's professional basketballs, with the usual two changing rooms that have been made for the past few days."

 _Accomplished._

"Change into shorts and tank tops or short-sleeved shirts, with sneakers. As before, replicate anything you didn't bring with you. We'll wait."

The candidates began to file into the changing rooms. Mack added, "Computer, make a board and put it on the wall, visible to all. Then sort all candidate records by height. Select the ten tallest candidates, and the ten shortest candidates. Pair them up – one short and one tall – but otherwise randomly. Using only the candidates' numbers, pass the data to the board. Number the teams one through ten, randomly."

As the candidates began to return, Mack said, "Check the board, and see if you've been assigned to a team. If you have, step to my right. If you haven't, sit down on the floor."

As before, the Imvari was wearing knee pads. He stood to her right, as did the Caitian, the Calafan woman, the Witannen, the Jem'Hadar, a pair of Vulcans, a Klingon, a Tandaran and one of the Suliban.

"Team one?" Mack asked, "Who's on team one?" Candidates stepped forward. "Okay, you get the first pick."

Once all one hundred candidates had been chosen, Mack spoke. "You're going to play a modified form of basketball. For anybody who knows the sport already, I caution you that, just like yesterday when we played tennis, the rules won't be quite the same. Wes, c'mere."

He complied. "Okay."

"The basic rules of modified basketball are as follows. First, the object of the game is to put the ball in the hoop. Second, you can only have five team members on the court at any one time."

"But we will have ten players on each team, if the team numbers are a reliable indicator," the Andorian male pointed out.

"That's right," she confirmed, "which brings me to the third rule – you can only make a substitution if possession of the ball is changing after a basket. I am going to require that everybody gets some playing time, so you will need to sub everyone in and out at least once. Possession can also change if the ball is stolen, but you can't make any substitutions as the ball would still be in play. Now, let's go over fouling."

"Fouling?" asked the Witannen.

"Normally, you get six personal fouls and you don't play to a set number of points. But we'll do things a little differently in order to make these games fast, so you'll only play up to eleven points, or to a sudden death tiebreaker. There won't be a clock, or a shot clock. Also, you'll only get three fouls – but no technical fouls – but you still want to be careful not to foul."

"What are the fouls?" the Takret inquired.

"The real rules are more complex," she explained, "but we'll only have three kinds of fouls – stepping out of bounds with the ball, traveling, and contact with the body of whoever's in possession of the ball."

"So you're not caring about back court violations, illegal screens, or anything like that?" asked the human guy.

"Nope. Hell, stand in the paint for the whole game, for all I care."

"Oh, um, okay," he replied.

"What is traveling?" a Klingon male asked.

"Great question!" Mack praised. "Wes, can you demonstrate dribbling, and then traveling?"

"Sure," he said, "but keep in mind that I'm not very good at this." He bounced a ball a few times. "To get the ball up and down the court, you've got three ways of doing that. First is dribbling." He demonstrated a bit, and then bounced the ball too high. "Did you all see what I did there, where I made a mistake? I bounced the ball too hard, and it was hard for me to control it."

"You mentioned steals," Daniya reminded everyone, "I take it this is a way of stealing the ball?"

"Definitely," Wes confirmed, "or you could reach in for the ball. But let's go back to how to get the ball down the court. You can also pass it."

"Let's demonstrate two basic passes," Mack suggested. "The first is just a regular old chest pass. Right here," she held her arms in front of her by her chest. "Hit me, Wes!" He threw the ball at her and she readily caught it. "The other basic pass is the bounce pass. It's just what it sounds like." She bounced the ball back to him, and he caught it.

"The only other way to get the ball down the court legally is to shoot at the basket. But you probably don't wanna do that unless you're over halfway to the basket," Wesley cautioned.

"If a teammate catches your shot, it ends up really just being a pass," Mack added, "but the other team could just as easily grab the ball and steal it."

"Anyway," Wes interjected, "traveling is when you walk or run with the ball, but you don't bounce it on the floor."

"The other two kinds of fouls we're looking at should be pretty self-explanatory," Mack stated. "You can reach in for the ball, but you can't touch the person holding the ball when you do so, or you'll be hit with a foul. A foul means that play otherwise stops and you get two free throws from this line," she pointed. "Each one you make is one point. Baskets made outside this arc," she pointed again, "are worth three points. All other baskets are worth two points."

"We could easily get to twelve points, instead of eleven. Will there be a penalty if we go over?" inquired a Klingon woman.

"I don't imagine so," Crita surmised, and looked to Mack for confirmation.

"Of course not," Mack confirmed. "For those of you who know how to really play basketball, another thing we're gonna do is, you'll be able to complete your two free throws, and then the ball will switch possessions and will be inbounded. This will provide a chance to make substitutions. So, really, this is more of a sketch of basketball. If we ever actually get to play it professionally, you'll see that the rules are somewhat more complicated and different."

"You mentioned earlier," the Imvari reminded them, "that there are three fouls per player. What happens if three fouls are committed by any of us?"

"Then that person sits out the rest of the game," Wes answered, "and someone else will have to sub."

"What if six people on a team each commit three fouls?" the Jem'Hadar inquired.

"Then you'll play with only four people on your team," Mack replied. "You can see why it's not such a good idea to commit a bunch of fouls."

=/\=

Marty was at his station on the Bridge of the _Enterprise-E._ They were between star systems, but not too far from where he'd gone with his away team. His mind was wandering a little. "Hmm?"

"I said, Mr. Madden," said Captain Picard, "we should discuss your findings."

"By all means." Marty followed the older man into the Ready Room. Once the door was securely shut, the captain asked, "Well?"

"I've been doing some research on chi radiation, sir," Marty began.

"And?"

"It's got tons of potential applications – everything from time travel to traveling between universes without a wormhole or an ion storm combined with a transporter malfunction; to interphased cloaking; to possibly even weaponry. It's like the Swiss Army Knife of energy."

"I see. I presume the cloaking application is why you have designated everything as being _confidential?_ "

"In part," Marty allowed, "it's also because of this finding we made. See, as Lieutenant Commander LaForge explained to me, all of the matter in our universe vibrates on a twenty-one centimeter radiation band. Other universes presumably vibrate on other bands."

"They do. We had an issue with Lieutenant Commander Worf, perhaps it's a decade ago now. He was phasing in and out, through what were evidently parallel universes. We got him back, eventually, but," Picard noted, "it was because we determined his quantum signature. The barrier between quantum realities was breaking down, and we had to locate him among several versions of the _Enterprise_."

"Then this gets even more interesting, sir."

"Truly?"

"Yes. We found what looked like almost a rift. It was a kaleidoscope of radiation bands – it kept sliding from twenty to twenty-one, sometimes down to nineteen and up to as high as thirty-eight once, and then back down again."

"Do these numbers refer to the centimeters of the various radiation bands?"

"They do," Madden confirmed. "The four of us, sir, we believe that the cause of this phenomenon, it isn't natural. We also suspect that the etiology is from outside our universe."

"Do you believe that whoever is doing this – do you think they are testing out the various and sundry radiation bands, or quantum signatures?"

"That's exactly what I think," replied Marty, "it's almost like they're knocking on a series of doors, seeing who'll answer."

"Or who'll let them in," opined the captain.

"Or where they can force their way in."

=/\=

Play began. The five games went fairly smoothly. The inner circle blew whistles as needed. Only one team failed to allow all of its members to play – team two, which had both Suliban on it.

Even though that team had technically won its game, Majira held a hand up. "I believe you have not followed all of our instructions to the letter. I would like to confirm this with Coach MacKenzie."

"It seems foolish," complained one of the Suliban, "to care more about the fact of substitutions than on overall results."

By this time, the other games had finished. Mack could finally look up. She scanned the faces of the candidates. "You, sir," she singled out the Jem'Hadar, "kindly explain why we care about substitutions."

The Jem'Hadar thought for a moment. "I must say that I agree that overall results – wins over losses – are more important. However, there is a value to making substitutions."

"Which is?" Wesley prompted.

"Tired or mildly injured players can rest. Players in foul trouble can be swapped for the ones who are not in trouble, and can thereby play with more aggression. The coach can devise different plays, depending upon the strengths or weaknesses of a particularly configured squad."

"Exactly correct," Mack praised. "Now, we've got four teams that won their initial rounds, and one that technically won but fails to qualify for not following the rules. Therefore, their opponents will – hey, let's try something different." She thought for a second. "I want all twenty of you to stand here, at my left." She motioned to the members of the Suliban team and its opponent. "Okay, Majira, pick the best ten players from this combined group."

Majira checked her notes and made her selections. "I am ready."

"You'll be the new Team Two and will go to the next round. We'll play another round robin. Anyone out of contention can hit the showers."

They played. As they did so, some styles began to emerge. Some of the candidates were graceful, like the Caitian. Others were bruisers, like the human guy. One of the Klingons picked a fight with the Imvari, and they were both thrown out of their game. The Vulcans were better at scoring than at defending. The Jem'Hadar, of all people, turned out to be a natural.

Ten games were played, and the entire pool of candidates seemed to be spent. "Okay!" Mack called out. "Here are the standings. We have a tie for first, with three wins apiece, for Teams Two and Four. Third place is Team One, with two wins. The other two teams each won one time. So Team Two and Team Four will play for the championship. Everybody else can hit the showers."

Team Two included the Caitian, the Imvari and the human guy. Team Four included the Jem'Hadar, the Witannen and the Takret. They were all winded. "Take a breather," Wes suggested.

"You'll only play to seven points," Mack decided. "I know you're all beat. I'm not looking for a big scoring blowout, okay? We'll just see this through and then call it a day."

=/\=

"Mr. Madden," Picard said, "I'll need to escalate this matter. Inform Mr. LaForge, Mr. Barclay and B-4 that the matter is Top Level security. Take the Bridge."

"Yes, sir." Marty left the Ready Room.

"Computer," Picard commanded, "get me Admiral Nechayev."

"Jean-Luc," she asked, "what's your news?"

"My team has reported. The chi band radiation appears to be phasing in and out, and changing its radiation band sizes. This may be comparable to what initially happened to Lieutenant Commander Worf that one time."

"Possibly," she allowed, "but we had earlier thought that it was possibly a natural phenomenon. Have you changed your mind?"

"I'm convinced now that it is not. It has lasted a while, and it appears to be far too variable and unstable to be natural – it would have already collapsed upon itself, and it has not."

"So, it's made by an intelligence," she deduced, "and they are sustaining it somehow, yet they're making it appear unstable?"

"That might be a byproduct of what they are doing."

"Which is?"

"They seem to be trying out frequencies. It's almost as if it was communications-based, in that they're trying channel after channel."

"But it's not communications," the admiral pointed out.

"Right. It's more as if were a probing of weaknesses. Wherever they can gain admittance, I suspect they will enter."

"If they can get through without the use of a wormhole, or an ion storm during a simultaneous transport, then they could readily come here."

"Precisely."

"We will," she declared, "treat this as a potential hostile act. I also want you to perform research, and determine if there are any precedents for this sort of, well, I suppose it could be referred to as a universe to universe crossover. Anything beyond ion storms, wormholes and the Lieutenant Commander's experience."

"Understood. Any other orders?"

"Stay in the area for now," she replied, "perhaps they'll reveal themselves. Nechayev out."

In her office, the admiral commanded, "Computer, get me Section 31, and record this call as a Top Level security matter, and all other communications on this subject as well. Create a file, Top Level security protocol, on my authorization only, _Nechayev Sigma 621_."

 _Accomplished. File name?_

 _"_ _Operation Mirror Chameleon."_

=/\=

The two teams played the final game. Because the prescribed point total was so small, both teams turned over completely the first time that possession of the ball changed, so as to assure that they had complied with the substitution rule. In less than fifteen minutes, the Jem'Hadar's team had won.

"Good going," Mack praised, "I like how everybody took care of the subs issue immediately. That showed foresight. Hit the showers, okay? We'll start interviews but none of you'll be first – give you a chance to cool down a bit." They departed, and she called out, "Computer, create a waiting room that can seat one hundred people. Make me one office, with a table and six chairs. One door should open into the waiting room. The other should open to the exit."

She beckoned to her inner circle and then to one of the Suliban. Once they had all gotten into the office and were seated, she turned to the Suliban and inquired, "Why should I hire you?"

"I, uh, I beg your pardon?"

"That's today's question," she clarified.

"Well, uh, I was on the championship Kalerian montar team in '76. My, my motor skills are good. I can learn any sport you, you ask me to."

As he spoke, the inner circle took notes. "Anything else?" asked Mack.

"Um, I think this would be an interesting assignment."

They had finished interviewing all of the candidates except for the Jem'Hadar and the so-called Magic Seven. Mack called the Jem'Hadar into the office and asked him the same question she had been asking all of the candidates. He thought for a moment, and spoke. "I have watched your methods all week. I do not necessarily agree with all of them. But they seem effective. I suspect you will select a fairly eclectic team. That is likely the best choice, as you will be playing all manner of games, and probably a few that are not known outside their own systems. If I do not fit in with your vision, or I am not compatible with your other choices, then maybe you don't want to bring me on. I can understand such a decision, although I feel it would be the wrong one."

"Oh?" asked Daniya.

"See," the Jem'Hadar continued, "by myself, I can add to your eclecticism. But I can offer more than that. I can offer muscle and intelligence, although you can get those from others. I can offer you a different perspective. I have had to adapt to this culture, and it has not been easy. But I can do it, as I have. This experience in adapting, it can serve us both well as the team changes, engagements fall through or new sports have to be learned. Bring me on, and I will become the player you want me to be."

"What about ketrecel white?" Majira asked.

"I use nearly none of it now, and am nearly completely clean of it," he reported, referring to an addictive drug taken by his species. "I am able to get yridium bicantizine from tri-nucleic fungi. I will need to grow these fungi on board, with your permission, of course."

"It's a genetically engineered dependence, isn't it?" Wes inquired.

"It is," confirmed the Jem'Hadar. "As is loyalty to Vorta, and the Founders. But I have found, as I have been getting my yridium bicantizine from elsewhere, my blind obedience to both groups now seems, well, I have been questioning it. I have been coming to the inescapable conclusion that I don't wish to be their slave any longer."

"We will be closely watching replicating," Mack informed him. "If you are hired, and we find you are upping your dosage, you'll be kicked off the team. I don't care where we are or who we're about to play."

"I understand."

"If any means – whether it's drugs or therapy or an operation or diet or even, I dunno, hypnosis that can cure you once and for all of the dependency, or can at least lessen its severity even more, if you are hired I expect you to undergo it. You'll be expected to seek out those treatments, and not depend on Majira here to find them for you – if we hire you. Is that clear?"

"Abundantly. Coach MacKenzie," the Jem'Hadar looked straight at her, "I do not want this addiction. I never have. My people's creed and our undying devotion to the Vorta and all of that – I have always had trouble following them. As I purge myself of more and more of the white, I find them even more questionable. This addiction, and this creed and everything about it – it has crippled my people and kept my race as slaves to the supply and the suppliers. Every microgram of it is evil. I will fight this addiction, as I have, but not for you. I fight it to free myself from these chemical shackles. And, I hope, for a way for others to be able to break them as well."

"Thank you," Mack replied. He departed. She turned to the others. "I know none of you wanted him. What do you think of him now?"

"I, I'm still not sure," Crita admitted. "But should we not see the, what did you call them?"

"The Magic Seven," Daniya told her.

"Yes, yes, them," confirmed the furry woman.

"Are there any objections to, or reservations about, the Magic Seven?" Mack asked. "Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Everyone else was quiet. "Let's go out to see them," Mack said. They all stood up. "Computer, eliminate all furnishings unless someone is sitting down, and all holographic trappings." The holodeck converted to its original form, which was a surprisingly small room with grid-like emitters in the floor, on the walls and on the ceiling.

The Magic Seven all looked up once the room had changed. The Andorian asked, "Can we help you?"

"Line up, please," Mack requested, "in any order, it doesn't matter." They did so. She went to the human guy, who was at one end of the line. "What's your name?"

"Uh, Darren Shaw. But call me Tag."

"Congratulations, Tag," she held out her hand. "The job is yours, if you want it."

"Oh, thank you!" He pumped her hand vigorously.

Next was the Caitian. "What's your name?" asked Mack.

"M'Belle."

"Welcome to the team, M'Belle."

"What's your name?" Mack asked a Vulcan woman.

"I am called T'Val."

"Welcome aboard, T'Val. You?" Mack asked the Witannen.

"I am Adeel."

"You're hired, Adeel. You?" Mack asked the Andorian fellow.

"Trechek."

"Great to have you with us, Trechek. You?" Mack addressed a Calafan woman.

"Yi'imspi. My name means student of communications or student of speech."

"I'm happy to report that you're hired. And?" She was at the end of the row, where the Imvari stood.

"I am Grosk."

"I have a job for you, if you want it, Grosk." They shook hands. "Now," Mack added, "I need for you to keep quiet about this for around twenty-four hours. If I get wind that you've spilled the beans early, then the offer is rescinded and you're off the team. There's no talking to parents, children, spouses, lovers, friends, agents, anyone. There's one more thing for you to do today, before you go."

"Oh?" asked Tag.

"Come to the bottom level and pick out a bunk for yourself. Keep in mind, you'll have a roommate."


	13. 13-Decisions

**Chapter 13 – Decisions**

"Let's take another vote," Majira suggested.

"We've already taken four," Wesley complained.

"Well, it's been a few hours since we voted," Crita pointed out, yawning.

"It's almost one hundred hours," Daniya announced, checking her PADD. "Mack, are you awake?"

"Uh, almost." Mack blinked several times. Her PADD was flashing, indicating a new message. She clicked it open.

 _Mystic, are you okay? I didn't hear from you. – MDM_

She tapped out a fast response.

 _Be glad you're not a part of the real nitty gritty decision-making. Dullsville. – MDM_

She sent the message and a new one came in, nearly immediately, from the Federation Diplomatic Attaché on Andoria, Human Unit _._ The specific sender was named _Hoberman._ She read it to herself, and then crowed, "Hot dog! We got ourselves a game!"

The rest of them sat up straighter. "What kind of game?" Crita asked.

"Ice hockey. I, uh, holy cow, it says here that, the military unit – they still call them MACOs there – it says they get homesick sometimes and would like to play a game that would remind them of Earth!"

"Perhaps we should gear some of our personnel choices around this game," Daniya suggested.

"I disagree," Wesley said, "what if we're horse racing the next day, or the next month, or something?"

"Well, we'll need somebody. The Caitian and the Witannen aren't going to be playing hockey," Mack opined.

"It's highly likely," Majira stated, "that Vulcans would find this sport to be too cold. They would probably not perform up to par."

"That Imvari's probably out, too," Wes pointed out. They all looked puzzled so he clarified, "Knees."

"Right. But we've got Shaw, the human guy," Mack stated. "We could use a guy like that Jem'Hadar, y'know."

"We could," Wes conceded. "Hockey players are always really big guys," he explained to the alien women.

"So, Klingons?" Crita asked, a little timidly.

"Agility is good, too," Mack pointed out, "we might want Xindi sloth."

"I imagine we'll be busy, no matter what," Majira opined. "Andorians could tolerate the cold rather well. I'm sure they would enjoy playing on their home turf, as it were."

"Here, let's do this," Daniya suggested, "let's indicate our choices on our PADDs and then maybe take a break for a while. Don't send the lists until after break is over. Let's just clear our heads for maybe a half an hour."

"Fair enough," Mack agreed, "take thirty."

Daniya cornered her as the others stepped outside of the room, stretching. "They are very tired."

"I am, too, but," Mack yawned, "we gotta get this done today, I figure. I wanna have our offer letters out by tomorrow morning, and get our people ready to play hockey so we can play our first game in maybe a month or so. Less would be better; I'm not exactly made of money."

"That is reasonable," said the green-skinned woman, walking out to get a snack.

Wes came up to Mack this time. "I've been meaning to ask you."

"Oh?"

"You always seem to know exactly what you want. You know just what to do. I," he shook his head, "I'm still in the dark half the time. I can't quite comprehend how you've been managing to do it."

"I, um, let's just say that I had a really, really long time to think about things like that."

He stepped back and quietly looked at her for a moment. "You, uh, I'm glad you didn't lose hope."

"It wasn't necessarily _hope_ _._ It was more like a fantasy." Mack's eyes were far away for a moment. "I need to grab some coffee. Want any?"

"Sure."

In a few hours, they had their list and they had all agreed. Xochar'inif – the Jem'Hadar – had made the cut. They had to admit that they needed someone as large as he. There were plenty of others; it was a rather motley group indeed.

Mack prepared the offer letters. "Okay, once I hit send _,_ the letters'll be sent. Speak now, or forever hold your peace." There were no objections, and the letters were all sent out, and the offers of employment were made.

In fifty separate bunks, PADDs dinged or flashed, signifying incoming messages. Some candidates were sleeping, and did not know until the morning. Others answered immediately, making their enthusiasm apparent. Still others bided their time a little, thinking it over.

 _One candidate contacted a way station, a dummy account, set up for the express purpose of allowing for the anonymizing of messages, and the erasure of all traces of origin or destination, sender or subject matter._

 _The message was one word, and would be a snap to refute or wave away. Plausible deniability, they call it._

In the middle of the night, Admiral Nechayev heard her personal PADD ding. She was having trouble sleeping, and had been for some time, as threats and wars and problems were constantly in the forefront of her mind. She was already awake and the sound didn't make things any worse. She clicked in the semi-darkness, and the one-word anonymous message came up.

 _Success._

She smiled to herself, rolled over, and tried again to get some sleep.

=/\=

 _Mack was still awake, excited about what was happening. She opened every new acceptance message that came in, smiling broadly, adrenaline still pumping. It was all falling into place._

 _The_ _Cookie_ _was as ready as it could ever be, although Wesley could stand to get in some time reviewing the engines and the ship's many other marvels more closely._

 _Sick Bay and Communications were both ready. Crita, most likely, would have her roommate, and would finally feel comfortable enough to sleep on board._

 _Daniya, like Wes, could use some added time getting used to the ship and more up to speed. Mack had to admit that she herself could use a bit more time at Tactical. It would help if she could trust a player to take over if she was ill or otherwise engaged – such as to run the ionization diffuser – but she allowed that that could wait for the nonce._

 _A week, she decided, but no more. She wrote to the attaché on Andoria, some guy named_ _EK Hoberman_ _._

 _We'd be more than happy to play your MACO unit. Say, August 10_ _th_ _of 2379? Let me know if this for some reason doesn't work for you. Looking forward to it. – M. Dana MacKenzie, Coach of the Black Sheep_

 _Then she added one last note._

 _Marty – See if you can get to Andoria on August 10_ _th_ _. We'll be playing our first game, ice hockey, and I would love to see you. It's been way the hell and gone too long. – Mystic._


	14. 14-Skating

**Chapter 14 – Skating**

Marty saw the message the following morning, as he was preparing for his shift. He tapped out a quick response.

 _I'll try, but I can't promise anything. I know I won't be able to get leave. But you know I want to be there. – MDM_

He got to the Bridge. "Mister Madden," Picard said, almost as soon as Marty had sat down. "I should like you to lead another mission to study that phenomenon we had discussed."

"Yes, of course." The chi spectrum radiation. "Anything specific we should be looking for?"

"I have no specifics as of yet. But the Admiral has requested another set of scans to further our investigations. As before, take Mister LaForge and B-4 with you."

"Should I borrow Barclay again, sir?"

"Not this time."

"Sir, will we be getting anywhere near Andorian space any time within the next few weeks?"

The captain thought for a moment. "I don't believe so. Some special reason you're interested in that particular destination?"

"That team where I'm part-owner, sir, they're playing ice hockey there, pretty soon."

"How soon?"

"My cousin doesn't use star dates. I guess she never got used to them." _Or they didn't use them at Canamar,_ Marty mused. He quickly tamped down the thought. "It's in about twenty standard Federation days, I believe."

"I'm sorry," Picard shook his head, "but I get the nagging feeling that we will still be here then. But," he thought for a moment, "best of luck to your athletes."

"Thank you, sir." Marty did his best to hide his disappointment, but they had not seen each other for going on two decades. It hurt to extend that time even longer.

=/\=

"So you will do it? You will share a room with me?" Crita asked.

"Sure," replied M'Belle, the Caitian. "I'd've had a roommate anyway, right?"

"Probably," allowed the Daranaean. "I won't paint in our room. I'll find some other place to let my works dry."

"Paint?"

"I'm an artist. That's how Mack found me, in the first place."

"Understood. I guess we're roommates."

The remaining athletes boarded the _Cookie_ , carrying suitcases or duffles. Mack, Wes and Daniya greeted everyone as Majira stayed in Sick Bay and fed her menagerie of experimental animals.

The Jem'Hadar, Xochar'inif, lingered as others filed past. "I should like to thank you for having confidence in my abilities," he told Mack, "particularly as my behavior on the first few days was deplorable. It is, the arrogance, I do not relinquish responsibility for my speech, but I suspect that some of that was ketrecel white withdrawal talking."

"Maybe so," she conceded, "but do try to be kind to your fellow travelers here, okay?"

"Yes." Xochar'inif moved into the ship.

Bringing up the rear was the human guy, Tag Shaw. "This is gonna be fun," he stated.

"Yeah, it will," Mack clapped him on the back.

She gave them all a few hours to sort out their living quarters and various roommate situations, and get unpacked, before sending a message.

 _Meet me at the holodeck at 1100 hours. Dress for cold weather._

A rather surprised, albeit bundled up, group arrived more or less on time. The holodeck was as cold as Mack had promised. The Vulcans looked stoically miserable.

"Our first game is in a couple of weeks. It'll be ice hockey on Andoria." There were some murmurs from the athletes as Mack continued, "Remember when we played a form of field hockey? Well, this is similar, but we'll go with the full-blown rules this time. Plus you'll need to skate."

A lot of the athletes looked around nervously. "Skate?" asked one of the Vulcans.

"Computer, make me an ice skating rink."

 _Accomplished._

"Tag, you've skated, right?"

"I've even played pickup hockey, Coach."

"Perfect. Anybody else ever skate, even if you were really bad at it?" The other athletes shook their heads although Wes nodded. Mack sighed a little. "It's okay; you'll figure it out. Computer, make two pairs of hockey skates – one to fit me, and the other pair to fit Mister Shaw here."

They laced up as the others watched. "At least to start, you'll probably find that grace and agility help a lot. So, uh, M'Belle, I bet you'd be good at this." She turned to Shaw and quietly added, "I haven't done this in years. I'll probably fall a lot."

"Heh, me, too."

Slowly, they both made their way to a gate for the rink. Once they were on the ice, they both struggled to get and keep their balance. "Okay," Tag said, "You just kinda push off with your toes, like this, and you glide."

"You point your toes out a bit," Mack clarified. "Push off, glide. Push off, glide." She very nearly fell, but recovered by putting her arms out. "Didja see that? You can stop some falls that way. But you won't be able to stop every single fall. Get used to the fact that, at first, you're gonna fall a lot _."_

"Turn like this," Shaw demonstrated.

"Right," Mack agreed. She tried to turn, and fell.

Crita came over quickly, nearly slipping as well. "Do you need for me to contact Majira?"

"No, uh, I'm okay," Mack assured her, although she knew the fall would leave a bruise and perhaps a welt. "Unfortunately," she said to all of them, "this is reality. Falling is no fun. But you'll get better. Now," she cast about, thinking of what to say, "There are all sorts of ways to vary things. This will include learning how to skate backwards. But for now, let's just concentrate on getting you on the ice, and leave the fancy stuff for later. Computer, create hockey skates for everyone who does not yet have them."

 _Accomplished._

"Okay, it's time to lace up. Not too tight, and not too loose – and tuck in any long ends. I don't want you tripping over that. Also, I want everyone to pick a buddy. You and your partner will skate as a hand-holding pair to start. That'll mostly make things easier, but I caution you that one person falling might bring down the other one."

Even Crita put on a pair of skates, and paired up with her new roommate, M'Belle. Mack found herself paired with Xochar'inif, the Jem'Hadar. "With a height difference," she explained, "the taller person is going to take a bigger stride. That person needs to go a little slower in order to help out their partner. We'll just go around, slowly, clockwise. If you feel like you're gonna fall, put your arms out to try to steady yourself. If you get injured, speak up! That's what Majira is here for."

Xochar'inif looked at her. "If I fall upon you, my apologies."

"Got it, uh, Xo." He looked at her. "Can I call you that?"

He thought for a moment. "Very well."

It was slow going. Tag was paired with a Vulcan, T'Val. After a few minutes, it suddenly clicked in her head, and they began to skate closer to the center of the ice, and went a lot faster than most of the other athletes.

Crita and M'Belle were graceful, fluffy girls on ice, laughing and enjoying themselves. The Tandaran man, Dathan, was paired with Grosk the Imvari. There was even more of a height differential than between Mack and Xochar'inif, and it was difficult for Grosk and Dathan to remain balanced.

After several minutes of slow progress, Mack called out, "Skaters, reverse _!_ "

Turning was harder, and then to go counterclockwise was another challenge. This time, there were more falls, and it looked like one of the Calafans was becoming discouraged.

Mack said to Xo, "Let's go to the center of the ice, slowly. I need to get everyone's attention." He nodded and they progressed to the center together. She clicked her personal communicator, which was in the form of a bracelet – they did not have combadges as it was not Starfleet. "Mack to Majira."

"Go ahead."

"I think we've got some minor injuries here."

"What type?" asked the Ikaaran.

"Bruises, mostly. Nothing looks that bad, but I bet it's a bit painful."

"Got it. I'll be right there. Majira out." A Derellian bat squawked as she left Sick Bay and headed to the holodeck.

In the holodeck, Mack yelled, "Listen up!" They all stopped, but that meant some colliding and more falling. It was not going so well. "I just called Majira. She'll come over and will heal whatever ails you. In the meantime," Mack added, "I want you to do a little self-selection. Think about how fast or how slow you've been skating. Consider the number of falls or near-falls you've had today, and take note of how far you were from the walls of the rink, and if you leaned a lot on your partner, or if they leaned on you."

She took a breath. "When you weigh these things in your mind, consider, today, whether you're in the top half or the bottom half for skating. There is no shame in being in the bottom half. Most of you have never even seen a skating rink before, let alone skated. You could move up with training. Or you might sit our first game out. That's okay, too."

Tag said, "I know it'll come back to me, with a little practice."

"I, yeah," Mack replied, a tad distracted. She could feel herself getting a wicked bruise.

"Coach?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah; I had forgotten just how much ice skating can really hurt if you haven't done it in a while." Majira entered the holodeck, and was a little underdressed for its chill. Immediately, she came over to Mack. "I'm okay," assured the coach. "Fix everybody else first. Please _._ "

Shivering a little, Majira went over to Grosk. "Where is the trouble?"

"It is not too bad. I have some bruises from falling." She put her hands on him and a glow went from his body to hers. It ping-ponged around a little, and then settled in her calf. There was the slightest scent of roasting meats, for just a moment. "It is better," stated the tall alien. Majira smiled up at him and moved onto her next patient.

=/\=

Marty, Geordi and B-4 were on a shuttle, the _Monongahela_. "It's almost pretty," LaForge stated, gazing out a viewing portal at the phenomenon they were studying. As before, they had fed the sound through, and there were occasional seemingly random pinging sounds every now and again.

"Is that a reference to its aesthetics?" inquired the android. "Are not these so-called pretty things more likely to be symmetrical? This phenomenon is asymmetrical."

"Not necessarily," Marty explained. "But for women, though, yeah, symmetry is usually a good idea."

"True enough," replied Geordi, smiling to himself a little. He rapidly changed the subject. "Done any research on universe to universe transfers yet?"

"I haven't gotten the chance to," Marty admitted. "I guess there's no time like the present. B-4," he commanded, "tie into the interface with the _Enterprise_ 's main computers and look up crossovers between universes." _Ping._

B-4 accessed a port on the shuttle's console. "Initiating link." Then the computer responded.

 _Linkage complete. Data transfer initiated._

There was a pause of maybe a minute.

 _Data transfer is complete._

B-4 disconnected from the port. "I am ready to report."

Geordi set his PADD to record mode and nodded at the android.

"Universe to universe crossovers can currently be divided into four types, with a fifth type being unknown. The first is ancient, and is accomplished only by Calafans. This species originates in the part of the Milky Way galaxy where the septum between two universes is at its thinnest. Amplifying dishes located on Lafa II, at a spot that the natives refer to as Point Abic, help to focus Calafan meditations and dream states. Dreaming and meditating Calafans are able to readily cross over, although only between the home universe, which vibrates on the twenty-one centimeter radiation band, and the mirror, which vibrates at twenty centimeters. Prior to 2157, the dishes prevented Calafan crossovers during their conscious, non-meditative states. However, the mirror High Priestess, known as the teenager Yimar, commanded a change in the frequency emitted by the dishes in her universe, thereby permitting conscious, non-meditative crossovers, but only by purebred Calafans in either universe."

"Why did she change things?" Marty asked. _Ping._

"That information is considered absolute level classified," answered the android.

"Do Mister LaForge and I – or either of us – have that kind of authorization?"

"Negative. Authorization is at the flag officer level. The closest Starfleet member with this level of authorization is Admiral Alynna Nechayev."

"I see. What's the second kind?" asked Marty.

"The second type is simultaneous transports by counterparts, during ion storms in both universes. Again, these are the twenty and twenty-one centimeter radiation bands. This method was discovered by accident by Captain James T. Kirk, on star date 5692, with no information past the decimal. The old style calendar date is in 2267, with month and date currently unknown."

"The third type?" Geordi prompted.

"Passage through the Bajoran wormhole near space station Deep Space Nine. Not all passages through this wormhole result in universe to universe crossovers. The difference in circumstances is a plasma injector leak from a vessel's warp core. This manner of crossing over is also solely achieved between the prime universe and the mirror."

"Are there any crosses to any other radiation bands?" asked Marty.

"That is the fourth type," stated the android. "It can be mimicked with interphase generators. On star date 45892.4 – 2368 – by the old style calendar – Klingons attempted to create an interphase cloak by utilizing a molecular phase inverter. This resulted in two persons being trapped in a transporter buffer." _Ping._

"That was me," Geordi clarified, "and Ro Laren."

"How'd you get out of it?" asked Marty.

"We were leaving chronitons in our wake, so we were detectable. We were hit by a large anyon field. It was a strange day, let me tell you."

"This was," Marty asked the android, "a different radiation band? It wasn't twenty or twenty-one?"

"Correct," replied B-4. "The band was nineteen centimeters. This attempt at cloaking was unsuccessfully duplicated during an event that is considered highest level classified."

"I may know this," Geordi stated. "I'm sorry, Commander, but you heard what the level was – I can't be any more specific."

"That's all right," Marty assured him. "B-4," he turned back to the android, "posit how one might sequence through several radiation bands at will. What sort of technology could accomplish such a feat?"

The android thought for a few minutes as they continued scanning. "An emitter of some sort, continually shifting frequencies and radiation bands, perhaps."

"How could that be set up?" Marty asked Geordi.

"It seems almost like rotating shield harmonics, or phaser frequencies, like we used to battle the Borg." The engineer surmised as there was a sudden burst of staccato pinging.

"Then it's a weapon," concluded Commander Madden.

=/\=

 _As Majira did her work, Wesley drew Mac aside. "We really shouldn't be using the holodeck with the safety settings off, y'know."_

 _"_ _Normally, I'd agree with you, but they're gonna really be skating, and really soon, too. Hockey can be a brutal sport. There won't be any safety nets when we play on Andoria."_

 _"_ _Still," he persisted, "these people need to be able to succeed, right?"_

 _She was about to object, and remind him that he was the engineer and not the coach, but stopped herself. "Y'know, you're probably right." She raised her voice so that they could all hear her, "I know that a lot of you got hurt, even if it was a little bit. Majira, I'm sorry you got so much work to do. I, I think maybe we should consider using the holodeck's safety features for practice."_

 _Xo looked up. "I will abide by whatever is decided," He began, "but I think it would be better to continue as we are. After all, this is practice, yes? We should understand everything that can possibly happen, including injuries, am I right? What good does it do us to ignore the fact that we could be hurt while playing?"_

 _Yi'imspi, the Calafan woman, answered, "I agree. We should have thorough preparation. If Dr. Majira does not mind; then I say we should continue this way."_

 _"_ _Majira?" asked Mack._

 _"_ _This is why you hired me. Of course I am fine with it. Now, who's next?"_


	15. 15-Shoving Off

**Chapter 15 – Shoving Off**

 _To: Dana MacKenzie  
_ _From: Major EK Hoberman_  
 _MACO Liaison, Andoria_  
 _Date: July 30, 2379_

 _Ms. MacKenzie –_

 _The men are excited to be meeting you and your team! We're hoping for a good show. A lot of the spouses, girlfriends and boyfriends will be in the stands. We're hoping to make a festival of it._

 _Therefore, my proposal to you is as follows: regardless of the outcome of the game, we'd like to have a fair on the base, for our unit, the immediate families, your team, any guests they might want to bring, and our brass. Consider it a chance to mingle with the kinds of people who could pretty easily become your fan base._

 _Of course, all bets are off in the event of the unit being called to duty. Please consider this a personal invitation._

 _Looking forward to it, Hobie_

"Hobie?" Mack was sitting in her bunk, dawdling before getting up for the day. She chuckled a little. "Nobody's got a real name anymore. Huh." She tapped out a response.

 _Sounds good to me. My people will be up for it. – Mack_

The PADD dinged – another message.

 _Mystic,_

 _It's confirmed; I can't get away to see the game in person. I'm sorry. We're studying a phenomenon – I can't tell you anything beyond that – and it is interesting. But I would rather be catching up in person. Send me a tape if you can get one shot, okay?_

 _Go Easy, Straight Arrow_

She responded.

 _Baa. Good idea on the tape. We're shoving off today. – Mack_

=/\=

Wesley Crusher had learned everything he could about the _Cookie_ , but it still didn't feel like enough. He found Crita on the middle level, at the perimeter. She was sketching on the wall.

"What's that gonna be?" he asked.

Her furry hand slipped a little. "Oh! You startled me!" She erased a bit of it.

"Is it a big mistake? I didn't mean it. I could come back later."

"No, no, it is not much. It is all right. And, it is going to be, it will be a place on your planet called the Big Canyon."

He thought for a second. "You might be thinking about the Grand Canyon."

"Oh, yes, of course! No wonder it has been so difficult for me to find good images of it." She looked at him. "Are you troubled?"

"Nervous. Excited. Wondering when Mack will figure out that I don't really know what I'm doing."

She giggled a little nervously. "I feel the same way. It is a bit daunting."

"I want to assure you, Crita," he told her, "it's not that I'm incompetent. At least, I don't think that's the case. It's more that there's a lot to learn and most of it is wholly unfamiliar."

"I understand. We all want this to go well. Do you think any of the gaps in your knowledge would endanger us at all?"

Wes thought for a moment. "I don't think so. I want to know everything on here. It's so interesting! Then I remember, I'm it for engineering around here. I can't be just studying this and that when I'm supposed to be monitoring the warp containment field."

"This mural," she gestured, "I doubt that it will be completed any time soon. I will need to run Communications as a priority. I cannot be hiding back here and drawing and painting all the time. Hmm," she chewed on the end of her stylus for a moment, lost in thought, "maybe some of the athletes could help. Even for a little bit. Someone will need to take the nights, yes?"

"Well, yeah."

"We should suggest this to Mack. If one of us ends up in Sick Bay, and Majira cannot heal us quickly, then everything will grind to a halt unless this sort of an arrangement is made, I feel."

"Definitely."

Mack wandered over to the middle level as soon as they contacted her. "Way ahead of you," she assured them, "there are people with experience, either former Starfleet or Academy, or they ran freight. But I haven't tapped them yet. Do you think we should put off the launch?"

Wesley replied, "No, I think we'll be okay, at least to start. Besides, we've got the game. I think we should play it."

"It would be better," Mack stated. "This is a chance to not only play and get a payday. It's also a chance to see how well our team holds together. I think it could almost be an audition. We do well here, even if we lose, I figure we might be able to get more gigs out of this."

"Plus there is the matter of the," Crita looked around furtively, to be sure they were alone, "the Tactical thing."

"Ah, yes," Mack agreed, "the thing _._ "

 _Most of the team was in the holodeck, practicing on their own initiatives. There were several skating rinks set up, and athletes raced each other, or shot on goals, or defended. Gone were the days of barely keeping their balance._

 _"_ _This is_ _great_ _!" Mack enthused. "Look at how much better everyone is! I'm so proud of you! Now, listen up – you may remember, when I called for applications, I asked for full crew experience. I'm going to be tapping whoever gave me background on working on a crew, no matter how small the vessel was. We need backups for all of the major areas – Tactical, Communications, Engineering, Sick Bay, and piloting. If you didn't provide your information before, feel free to state it now, if you wanna volunteer to help out."_

 _This time, stopping was a lot easier for everyone. They gathered around Mack, who stood on the ice in her regular shoes. "I want to shove off today. I think we_ need _to. But I also need some help with the running of the ship. Anyone who provided expertise information with your application, you're with me for the moment. Plus any volunteers. Don't worry if you don't have the experience or you don't want to volunteer. Don't worry if you think your experience isn't perfect. This is a wacky, somewhat unique vessel. I doubt there will be too much perfect or near-perfect matching of experience to needs."_

 _She paused for a breath. "This is in addition to playing and practicing, of course. We will work out the schedule as we can. Not everybody's gonna play hockey anyway. Right now I'm just looking for options and to get rolling. The kinks will be worked out as we go, all right? Now, who's with me?"_

 _"_ _I washed outta Tactical," Tag admitted._

 _"_ _I can learn whatever you require," T'Val stated._

 _A Tandaran, Dathan, stated, "If you are willing to train me, I am more than willing to learn basic engineering."_

 _M'Belle spoke up. "I could assist with basic medical, but I do not know much."_

 _"_ _That's okay," Mack said, "for the hard stuff, you'd be calling on Majira anyway. Anyone else?"_

 _Xo looked at her. "Do you trust me to run your Communications station?"_

 _"_ _Of course I do," Mack decided. "We'll get down to formalities later. Right now, all I really need is relief for my main crew in eight hours or so, and then another round of relief eight hours after that. Otherwise, is everything on board? Is everybody here? I want to get going already."_

 _They all looked around. "Crita, Xo," Mack commanded, "take a head count, please. All other volunteers, I want you to spend some time with your counterparts in the inner circle. I am Tactical, for anyone who's unsure," she smiled a little. "_ Okay _? We are all in this together. I know we'll all have a good time."_ She began to leave, and the inner circle and the volunteers all hurried to keep up with her.

=/\=

"What have you got?" asked Commander Madden. It had been a few days and he, Geordi and B-4 had been going full tilt for most of that time. Both Marty and Geordi hadn't shaved.

"The chi spectrum radiation," stated the android "appears to be somewhat variable in intensity. However, the variances are misleading."

"Can you specify?" Geordi inquired.

"Affirmative. The pulses are following a complex, yet repeating, pattern. Every 16.12 seconds, the angle varies by .73 degrees." _Ping._

"Every single time?" Marty asked.

"That appears to be the case," B-4 confirmed.

"So," Geordi prompted, "this isn't random activity at all. But it's being presented like random actions. Whoever is doing this, they're hiding what they're doing."

"Let's see, who would hide their actions?" asked Marty.

"Maybe a scientist is testing a multiverse theory," Geordi opined.

"A corollary to that could be an engineer testing a new methodology," added B-4. _Ping._

"I can't help but to think tactically," said Marty. "Maybe this behavior is illegal wherever it originates, or the equipment is stolen. Or maybe someone means to escape their own universe."

=/\=

 _Wesley settled into Engineering with his new team. "Listen up," he said to them, "the main thing we'll need to do is to check that the warp containment field is holding. These gauges here," he pointed, "show the levels. It's not hard. You don't need to know warp theory for this part. Now, over here," they followed him as he walked along, "you can check on fuel and efficiency. For the most part, we'll use dilithium. This engine is the most efficient one I've ever seen, and that's saying a lot, considering that I've seen the_ _Enterprise-E_ _'_ _s engine. This efficiency is fantastic, but it's also not a fantasy impossible perpetual motion machine, or anything. It can and will run low on fuel at times. If you see slipping, tell me. Also tell me if you ever see efficiency degrading."_

 _The Denobulan, Effenston, looked at a panel. "What is this for? It appears there may be some other material being measured."_

 _"_ _I admit, I'm not sure," Wes stated, "There are all sorts of things like that on the_ _Cookie_ _. I intend to figure them all out, eventually. Feel free to try to dope it all out, too."_

 _At the Tactical station on the Bridge, Mack stood behind Tag and looked over his shoulder. "Show me how you fire a torpedo," she requested._

 _"_ _Uh, aiming is here, this part is the z-axis and over here are the x-axis and the y-axis."_

 _"_ _Right. You see this?"_

 _"_ _Yeah. What does it do?" he inquired._

"Truth is, I have no idea. But I aim to find out. These are related to the phaser banks, over here. But all of these," her sweeping gesture encompassed a number of complicated-looking switches, "are a mystery. Don't fire or change them or anything, of course. We can't just go around firing on innocent ships or a star system on account that we can't figure out what the hell everything is."

"Right," he agreed, "anything else?"

"Uh, there's a little something extra. Only me and my inner circle know about it, or can run it. If I need to run it, I'll bring you up here to cover Tactical, okay?"

"Uh, sure."

Crita and Xo sat together in the mess in order to work. "We can send notes to everyone," she suggested, "and perform our head count that way. Everyone will be responsible for determining whether they have all of their possessions on board."

"That is a good idea," he allowed. "A question?"

"Hmm?" The Daranaean didn't look up as she composed a generalized note to everyone on the team.

"Do I frighten you?"

She stopped what she was doing and looked up. "I, uh, yes." She drew a breath. "It is not just a little. But, but, truth be told, many people do."

"I see. I would like to apologize for how I treated you during the first few days of interviewing. I was unnecessarily intimidating. I should have been better, to you and to everyone else."

"It, it is all right." She thought for a second. "I mean, it is not all right, the way you treated me. But what I do mean is that I accept your apology."

"Thank you. It is difficult," he admitted, "For I am a stranger here, in many ways, an outsider. But I suppose many of us are. This is a rather diverse team. A lot of us are the sole representative of our various species. There can be pressure, self-imposed, of course, where one wonders, is anyone judging my species solely by how I behave?"

"I think I understand."

"Do you feel, Crita, that my actions reflect upon the entire Jem'Hadar race?"

"I, I can't say. Do you feel that my words and my actions represent the whole of Daranaea and its many provinces?"

"I don't suppose I do," Xo stated. "If I start to behave that way, please tell me. Call me on it, all right? I do not wish to prejudge your people."

"I can see," the fluffy woman opined, "that you are trying very hard. I, I must admire that. It is a good thing, that you are doing so."

"All I want is to try to fit in." Xo admitted.

"As do I."

=/\=

"So, maybe this is an attempt to escape from a universe? Is that what you're suggesting, Commander?" asked Geordi.

"Well, we can't really speculate about motivations now, can we? But the hidden patterning, I just think it means something _._ Otherwise, why would anyone bother to do it?"

"It is possible," B-4 postulated, "that the patterning is a reflection of the running of equipment."

"I think you're reaching there," Geordi opined.

"Another possibility," Marty added, "is that this is another Tactical move – Tactical on top of Tactical."

"How so?" inquired the engineer.

"Let's say you're in a room with ten doors, okay?" Marty explained, "You want to find out which is the good door."

"What is this so-called good door?" asked the android.

"It could be nearly anything. But let's go with Tactical, and take it to an extreme. You're a conqueror, okay? Behind these ten doors, well, you have no idea what's back there, not really. But you figure at least one of them; one of the rooms behind all of these doors, one of these rooms holds a powerful enemy. Your best possibility for defeating that enemy is through the element of surprise."

"I think I'm with you so far," Geordi said, "but you still need to knock or open the doors in order to see what's behind them."

"Right," Madden agreed, "so you want to knock, but not make it look like you're really knocking. That means, you have to find some way of hiding your knocking. In our real-world situation, that means you do your best to hide the patterning of your radiation pulses. You don't want your pulse shots to look like pulse shots; you want them to look like just so much background noise."

"Therefore, this is either the behavior of a thief or an escapee, or that of a cautious conqueror," B-4 deduced.

"Maybe _,_ " allowed Marty, "but we don't have any way to confirm any of this unless they get in."

"In a lot of ways," Geordi sighed, "I'd rather this stayed a mystery." _Ping ping ping._

"Me, too," Marty agreed.

=/\=

Crita tapped her communicator. "We have sent messages to everyone, and they all report that they are aboard and have all of their possessions. I, er, Xo and I, we believe that we are ready to depart."

On the Bridge, Mack answered, "Great work. Come on up here and we'll shove off. MacKenzie out."

She turned to her Bridge crew. "I'd suggest anyone not on the first shift should either rest or head back to the holodeck for more practice and other athletic pursuits." She paused for a second. "Oh, and of course you'll be paid extra for taking on this extra responsibility."

They filed out, with Tag being the last to leave. "I, um, Coach," his voice broke a little, "I wanna thank you for believing in me."

She leaned over and quietly said to him, "It's easy." He flushed a little and, smiling, left as Crita entered. Mack waited for the fluffy woman to get situated. "Ready, Puppy Girl?"

Crita laughed a little. "I am ready."

"Is piloting ready?" Mack asked.

Daniya nodded. "Ready."

"Open a channel to Engineering, please," Mack commanded. Crita nodded, so Mack continued, "Ready in Engineering?"

"Ready to go," Wes replied.

"Contact Sick Bay, please." After another nod from Crita, Mack asked, "Ready in Sick Bay?"

"Yes," Majira replied. "Secure for departure."

"Let's call the folks in the holodeck, too. Hell, can you give me the intercom, please?"

Crita flipped a few switches. "I believe the expression is – you are on."

"Um, … hi," Mack said, "I just wanted you all to know that we are shoving off. So write this day down – _July thirtieth of 2379_ – in your own personal histories, all right? When we're two days before the game, I'll pick the team, both starters and bench players, and I'll pick alternates, too, in the highly unlikely event that somebody gets hurt and they can't be healed by Majira in two days. If you're not in any of these three groups, please don't fret. I'm sure there will be ample opportunities for everyone to shine. In the meantime, saddle up, kids, 'cause we're movin' out!"

Daniya turned back in her seat to face Mack. "Shall I?"

"Yep. Please set a course for Andoria. Uh, whatever is the safest and most efficient speed. Confirm it with Wes, if you like."

"Sure," Daniya replied, turning to face the front and flipping some switches. "I like this unconventional style," she declared. There was a small tug as they cleared a field around the Perseus Trading Post, and the ship jumped to warp.

Crita turned to Mack. "We will need uniforms. I have a few preliminary sketches. May I send them to you?"

"That would be great. Thanks for remembering. Make sure they've got a blue accent, like we planned, okay?"

"They do. I have done my best to draw the image of a black sheep. It resembles a food animal on Daranaea."

"Well, yeah," Mack confirmed. "They are definitely prey animals. But the black sheep, see, it's like the family disappointment, or the, I dunno, the problem child."

Crita thought for a moment. "Dana, do you identify with that assessment?"

"Yeah," Mack admitted. "But it wasn't because of my incarceration. It was before that, even. My cousin and I are close, and it's because there weren't too many family members in our generation, but also because we just get on so well. We just kinda click. He was always the good one, the straight arrow. I suppose I've always been the opposite."

=/\=

Back on the _Enterprise-E_ _, Marty pulled off his boots and finally got a chance to shave, for the first time in days. He had tousled his hair and put on a clean tee and boxers when there was a communications chime. He blinked a few times, his eyes bleary and bloodshot. "Computer, who's calling?"_

 _The incoming communication is from M. Dana MacKenzie._

 _"_ _Put the call through." He got into his own bed. "Mystic!" he smiled._

 _"_ _Oh, man, Marty, you look like a wreck. Should I call you back tomorrow?"_

 _"_ _No, no, it's okay." He yawned. "I'm just, I'm glad to hear from you."_

 _"_ _I'm glad to be talking to you. We shoved off today."_

 _"_ _Ah, terrific. We, uh, well, we did, ha, mystical things," his eyes crinkled a little as he smiled at her._

 _"_ _More confidential stuff, eh?"_

 _"_ _Yeah," he admitted. "It's all cloak and dagger, I guess. Anybody shoot at our team?"_

 _"_ _No, not this time. Then again," she leaned over to check a wall chronometer, "there are still a few minutes left in the day. Anyway, I just, quickly, wanted you to know that we're on our way. I'll let you know what happens. G'night."_

 _"_ _Night, Mystic."_


	16. 16-Information

**Chapter 16 – Information** ****

A few days later, August the second of 2379. Admiral Alynna Nechayev sat in her office. "Computer," she commanded, "access and add to a file called Operation Mirror Chameleon."

 _Working._

"Current observations from the _Enterprise-E_ include variable radiation bands, all coming from the chi spectrum in the Denab System. Variant radiation pulses are confined to a space of approximately one cubic light year. Currently, the specifics about the location are only known to the following persons – this report writer, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, and four researchers, namely, Commander Martin Madden, Lieutenant Commander Geordi LaForge, Lieutenant Reginald Barclay and an android designated as B-4. The full significance of this location and these tests are only known to the report writer."

She paused to think a bit. "It is my considered opinion that these pulse shots are of a Tactical nature, and to develop something similar could provide a Tactical advantage. However, official research, investigation, testing and implementation would likely be considered to be in direct violation of several treaties. In particular, as chi spectrum radiation has known cloaking applications, it would be considered to be a direct violation of the Treaty of Algeron if further investigations were to overtly continue."

She took a breath. "Therefore, it is my considered opinion that an ionization diffuser, such as is found on the non-Federation ship known as the," she inadvertently snorted a tiny bit, " _Cookie_ , could prove to be a part of an effective defense if these pulse shots were to finally punch through. I suspect that an incursion is the likely intention behind these pulse shots. I fear that our next military threat will come, not from the Andorians, the Romulans, the Breen, the Jem'Hadar, the Klingons, the Vorta, the Cardassians or even the Borg – I fear that it will be an interdimensional invasion."

She took a sip from a tumbler of water that was on her desk. "Further, I suspect the _Cookie_ may very well have other helpful inventions or near-inventions. Our operative is in place and is conducting an investigation into that ship's operations. Expect some possible delays in reporting as our operative is posing as an athlete and is required to practice, play and otherwise train as a part of cover."

She clicked around a little on her PADD. "Computer, attach the following files to this file – image one, showing the _Cookie_ 's Engineering section; image two, showing a close-up of the warp containment field monitoring station; image three, showing a close-up of the Tactical array; image four, showing a close-up of the Communications station; image five, showing Sick Bay; image six, showing the pilot's station; image seven, showing a close-up of an off-Bridge station which may or may not be connected to the actual ionization diffuser; image eight, showing the entire team; image nine, showing the Black Sheep team's current, complete playing and travel schedule; and image ten, showing M. Dana MacKenzie's full legal file."

 _Attached to the file._

"Good. We currently have an operative on Andoria but not with the Federation Diplomatic Attaché on Andoria, Human Unit _._ The operative will attend the upcoming game and will obtain autographs from a number of players. This will include the obtaining of an autograph from our inside operative, which will also serve as the point of transfer of any vital information. If any information is requested, let me know. As always, we will disavow all knowledge in the event of the capture or revelation of the existence of our operatives. Respectfully submitted, Admiral Alynna Nechayev."

She coughed slightly. "Computer, send to the standard masked transfer point, utilizing all regular encryption coding and procedures."

 _Accomplished._

She settled back in her chair and allowed herself a smile. "Good."

=/\=

"Majira," Mack said into her wrist communicator, "How quickly can you give everybody basic physicals?"

"A few days, unless something egregious is discovered," replied the Ikaaran.

"Got it. If you could, please, start checking out the athletes. Once things are a little quieter up here, I'll give you more of a priority list, all right? Set aside anyone with major issues, but hold off on dealing with that until either they're all examined or you've got a lull for some reason or another."

"Understood."

"Let me know immediately if anybody's got major issues, and how long it'll take to deal with them, please. If they're on the priority list, well …."

"I shall treat them as a priority," Majira replied. "I will maintain their medical confidentiality, and will only tell you whether there are major problems, but not what those precise problems are. Will that be acceptable to you?"

"Yeah, of course. Thanks. MacKenzie out." Mack turned to the remainder of her Bridge crew. "At some point, I'll want you two and Wesley to get physical exams, too. But not yet. Uh, Daniya?"

"Yes?" replied the green-skinned woman.

"Do we have an ETA?"

"It will take a few days, at our present course and speed, assuming no incidents."

"Good, we'll have some time to practice on their turf and get to know it a bit. Crita, can you open a channel to Andoria, to, uh," Mack checked her PADD, "the guy's name is EK Hoberman."

Fluffy hands glided over the controls and then an earpiece was adjusted inside a white triangular ear. "I believe that I can get visual communications."

"Terrific," Mack said, "let's see 'em." The screen showed a slight guy in an old-style MACO flight suit. He looked up. "Uh, hi," Mack said, and introduced herself.

"Hello," he replied, "Major EK Hoberman here. We're looking forward to your arrival. When will that be?"

"The second, I think. Is it okay to be early?"

"Sure; it's fine. What sort of accommodations will you be needing?"

"Maybe nothing. You got a bay that can accommodate my ship?"

"Really _?_ "

"Crita, can you please send the Major the dimensions of the _Cookie_?"

"Right away."

"The _Cookie_?" he laughed a little. "I, uh," he checked his PADD as the data came in. I think our big bay, number fifteen, that oughta work. I'll have my men clean it out and dump any cargo elsewhere, and retract the roof. You don't need a runway, do ya?"

"No. Uh, we don't, Daniya, right?"

"We can take off and land, straight up," clarified the Orion.

"I guess we don't need a runway," Mack surmised.

"Good. The game'll be on the tenth. There's a rink and seats at a small arena, plus you can practice there through the eighth; we'll work out a schedule so we're not colliding. I hope you realize that this is sold out."

"Fantastic!" Mack gushed. "You had mentioned in your note a fair of some sort? For the day afterward?"

"Right. We've got local vendors set up, that sort of thing. There'll be food, and the corps has a band. Hope you like songs about winter – they know 'em all."

"Long as it's not Christmas carols in August."

"You have my word," Hobie put a hand to his own chest briefly. "No caroling. We'll host a meal in our main mess the night after, too."

"Okay, thanks. We'll be there. MacKenzie out."

Maybe a minute later, there was a _ding_ on her PADD, an incoming message from one EK Hoberman.

 _Can I escort you to dinner the night of the game?_

Mack raised an eyebrow and smiled to herself. "Well, well, well."

"Hmm?" Crita inquired.

"Nothing to worry 'bout," Mack replied. She tapped back a one word reply.

 _Sure._

=/\=

Marty sat down to lunch in Ten Forward, alone. The proprietress was a crew member named Guinan. She came over. "Y'know," she stated, "If you keep coming here for lunch at off hours, you'll never make any friends."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I suppose so. Still, I guess it's better than just eating in my quarters all the time."

She made a sweeping gesture encompassing the entire area. It was devoid of personnel, except for the two of them. "Yeah, this is such an improvement," she muttered under her breath. More loudly, she added, "You've been here for a good month, and you're still doing that?"

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Look, we all know what happened. We know how you got off on the wrong foot with the captain. But Geordi LaForge tells me you're easy to work with."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I asked. Plus I haven't seen anybody but you and him working with B-4."

"And?"

"I think that's really nice of you, because otherwise everybody looks at B-4 and they see what they think of as a pale imitation of Data, and they shy away. It's not that poor android's fault. You're giving him a chance when other people won't."

"I dunno." Marty pretended to take an inordinate interest in his beverage.

"I also think that maybe you've got friends, or at least kinda proto-friends, already."

"Maybe," Marty replied cautiously.

She sighed. "You sound like a guy who's been burned in other ways. Wanna talk about it?"

His PADD was on the table and a small chime began to emanate from it, insistent and getting a tiny bit louder with each repetition. He glanced at the device. "No time, sorry. But thanks for giving a damn." He was about to bus his plate but she waved at him. He left.

As soon as the doors had closed, she said to no one, "That's maybe five of us at most. Mister Madden, you might not have set out to be a loner, but it looks like you're becoming one, whether you wanna be one, or not."

=/\=

There was a _ding_ on Alynna Nechayev's PADD, an incoming message from an unknown, masked source.

 _Good work. The section is very interested in whether and how the inventions on the Cookie can be weaponized. You are likely correct that the radiation patterning seen in the Denab System is scouting work, perhaps as a prelude to an invasion. We cannot be too careful._

=/\=

As the day spilled over into the evening, the inner circle was relieved by the new second shift personnel. Mack trudged to her quarters, and saw Xo as she walked. "I have been examined," he informed her.

"Oh, good. Everything all right?"

"Yes. We have, might I make a training suggestion?"

"Sure."

"Could we review some footage of true hockey professionals? I know that times change, and perhaps even the rules do, at times, but it might still be educational."

"That's a great idea!" She thought for a second. "Tell ya what. I'll get it all going tonight. We'll have dinner in the mess and the game'll be on. Tomorrow it can be breakfast or lunch or something, to pull in anyone who can't make it tonight."

"Thank you for taking my suggestion seriously."

"But of course!" She stopped walking, and peered at him. "What's wrong?"

"Hmm?"

"You seem a little troubled."

"It is – huh, I was about to say that it was nothing, but that is not the truth."

"And?" she probed.

"I believe it is from ketrecel white withdrawal."

"What kind of symptoms are you having? Should I contact Majira?"

"No, it is not physical. It is psychological, I feel. I fear I have very little confidence now."

"Huh. You're here, right? So you can do things – I wouldn't have brought you on if you couldn't, y'know. Maybe you don't do things the way you did before, but you are anything but incompetent, Xo."

"But –"

"I want you on my team."

"Well, yes, but –"

"So does my opinion matter to you, or not _?_ "

"It matters, Coach." The Jem'Hadar thought or a moment. "I just do not wish to let you down."

She surprised him by hugging him. "You won't. I got faith in you."

As requested, anyone not on duty gathered in the mess on the middle level. "I am pleasantly shocked that we're just zooming along and not being shot at. If that changes, then all bets are off. But right now we'll operate under the assumption that this good fortune will continue. We have required viewing tonight, and every night, until we arrive on Andoria. That's three nights, by my understanding and by Daniya's reckoning, too. Now, don't look at your PADDs. I don't want anyone here – except for me – to know the outcome of this game before it ends. Be sure not to tell anyone on duty. Let it be a breakfast surprise for them, all right?" Mack announced.

She looked over her charges. "Here, this side of the room, you'll root for the Russians. This side will cheer on the American team. I know how this turns out, but don't worry – the side I put you on, it doesn't matter. This is just to make things more interesting."

"Which game is this?" asked Wes, from the back, on the Russian side of things.

"Glad you asked. It's one of the medal round matches in the Winter Olympic Games at Lake Placid, New York." _The Miracle on Ice._

"When did this take place?" M'Belle inquired.

"1980. Let's watch."

=/\=

As Mack and most of her team watched the Miracle on Ice, the patterning of the shifting radiation pulses in the Denab System changed ever so slightly, and the pinging slightly changed pitch, too.

Martin Madden and Geordi LaForge were roused out of sound sleeps in order to investigate and document the change, joining B-4 in a conference room kept locked in order to maintain the utmost level of secrecy.


	17. 17-Blocked Goals

**Chapter 17 – Blocked Goals**

They arrived on Andoria in three days, as Daniya had predicted.

For each of those nights, they had watched a classic hockey game together. After the Miracle on Ice, they had watched the May 10, 1970 decisive Stanley Cup Final game between the Boston Bruins and the St. Louis Blues, with Bobby Orr's spectacular winning goal. They had also watched the first-ever Stanley Cup final game after the end of the Third World War, an emotional 2065 game between the Western Canadian Prairiemen and the Eastern European Jackals.

The players had been chosen – eight starters including Mack, and twenty-five bench warmers – and they were all excited. There were another eight alternates. Even the nine athletes who had not been chosen as alternates, starters or bench players were still a part of the overall preparations. Someone always needed to practice shooting on goal or passing the puck or accepting a pass, and their fellow team members were only too glad to assist.

The _Cookie_ touched down in Bay #15 on Andoria, a slightly bumpy landing but still a good one. Mack and her inner circle got to the front first, as Wes opened up the hatch, with the seven other starters behind them, then the twenty-five bench players, the eight alternates and, bringing up the rear, the nine remaining team members.

There was a sight that made Mack's jaw drop as the hatch opened. It was a full MACO honor guard. Hobie stood at the front, in a full dress uni, with two flag bearers behind him. One held the flag of the United Federation of Planets. The other held the Andorian flag. Another half-dozen soldiers stood behind, saluting. Behind them were maybe another three dozen, at full attention. Mack realized they were likely the team, including the bench players for the MACO unit.

Mack was a tad embarrassed, wearing just her usual jersey, jeans and sneakers. Everyone else was in basic workout gear. To her relief, at least they were clean, more or less. She bounded down the gangway, and her inner circle followed. "Major?" she asked.

He relaxed and adopted an at ease posture, and shook her hand. "Welcome to Andoria."

"Thanks," she smiled. "This is quite the welcoming committee."

"I don't believe in half-measures."

"I suppose not. We're really glad to be here."

"Our facility is yours," he replied. "We can lock the bay doors at night for security, if you like."

"Good. Or I guess we could lock the ship." She was suddenly acutely aware that she had a huge audience. "This is my inner circle. Wes is my engineer. Daniya is the pilot. Majira is our CMO, and Crita is the Communications Officer. Directly behind us are our seven other expected starters, and right behind them is the expected bench."

"Got it. The color guard are our starters, with the rest of the starters immediately behind them. Behind them is the bench. I haven't quite decided on some of them. It might turn out that there are a few game day decisions."

"Fair enough," she replied. "That's your prerogative, of course. Will you be playing?"

"I, uh, no, probably not," he confessed, "Will you _?_ "

"Yep," Mack confirmed, "I'll be playing."

"Huh. Well, I'll remember that if anyone checks you into the boards. The officiating crew will be local Andorian citizens. They've been studying the rules, but I don't expect perfection. They'll probably be checking the replay a lot. I hope you don't mind." He looked up, as if he'd suddenly realized something. "Company!" he bellowed at his troops, "Dismissed!"

"I was wondering when you were gonna let 'em go," noted Mack. "This is a lotta pomp and circumstance for little old us."

"It's not a lotta trouble," he assured her, "here, I'll show you all where the rink and the mess are. We'll have the fair in the open air, for the most part. But there's also a few subterranean passageways – see the red light poles? Just follow any of 'em and you'll be able to get underground, where it's a lot warmer."

"What about the dinner? Where will that be?"

They had gotten to the main mess hall. "Here," Hobie said, and then added, a lot more quietly, "or you could join me in my private mess."

=/\=

"Okay, let's look alive out there!" Mack yelled, as her team skated around the holodeck's version of a rink. "I wanna see the starters versus eight bench players! You will play for ten minutes without subs, no matter what happens. Is that clear?"

Grosk skated to center ice, with T'Val right behind him. "You padded up okay?" Mack asked him.

"I believe so."

"I don't want you getting hurt," she stated, "and I also want you to have enough good knee movement to be able to really move on the ice. Are you absolutely certain you can start?"

"I am, Coach."

"Okay. I want you to stay safe, y'know."

"Thanks, Coach."

"Mister Shaw!" she yelled, "How's things at the crease?"

"Doing fine! I'm waiting for a puck to sail over here." He adjusted his goalie mask.

Mack shoved a mouth guard into her own mouth and got to center ice. She and a Denobulan, Effenston, stood to one side as T'Val stood at the other. A couple of Klingons, Inshar and Cilla, remained a bit further back as Tag stayed at the net and the other goalie, Reskin, a Xindi sloth, stayed at his net. Grosk, the big Imvari, dropped the puck. He and Xo batted at it a bit, with Xo getting control.

The puck was passed around several times, and sometimes stolen. After ten minutes, M'Belle, who was one of the ten team members not even chosen as an alternate, called for time.

The teams exchanged players and switched sides, practicing as many set plays as they could. After two hours, Mack finally called a halt to play. "We'll do this for the next few days. If you wanna do any other practicing on your own, feel free. Everybody looked good out there today. Let's work on making our passing more fluid tomorrow. I want it to feel easy and intuitive. Now hit the showers."

=/\=

Major Hoberman stood just outside the base rink as his team practiced. "I wanna see a good show!" he yelled. "I want you to play up to professional level!"

A soldier skated over. "They got kind of a weird-looking team, Major."

"Never mind that," Hobie replied. "So they're a mixed group. So are we."

"Yeah, but we're just humans and Vulcans and some Klingons. They're half the species in the quadrant! I don't even know what that flower child is."

"I doubt if that gal's playing hockey. Now let's do shots on goal! I wanna see good effort!"

=/\=

On the _Enterprise-E,_ Marty finally had a moment to himself. Again, alone – more or less – in Ten Forward _f_ or lunch, he tapped on his communicator badge. "Yes, I'd like to speak with Dana MacKenzie on the _Cookie._ "

There were a few chimes, and it kicked into voice mail. "Myst – uh, Dana – I hadn't heard from you. Didja get to Andoria okay? Call me tonight, thanks. Madden out." He closed the connection by tapping on his communicator again. He looked up to see Guinan hovering nearby. "Yes?"

"Your voice," she commented, "it was different just now."

"You were listening in?"

"Just to your tone."

"What did my tone tell you?" he asked as he bussed his bowl and tried to not sound peeved.

"It told me that this is someone you really care about. See, Commander, I think you aren't being approached by people for a few reasons. One is that you're high up in the command food chain."

"Well, I don't exactly intend to change that."

"Fair enough. There are also residual feelings about Riker and Data. I'm not about to deny that those are a problem," she stated.

"Don't forget my screwing up with Picard," Marty added.

"I think that's a lot less of an issue than you seem to believe. You've also got this weird schedule and loner business going on. I keep telling you – stop eating lunch in here at 1500 hours."

"I can't exactly get away when everyone else can." She gave him a look, so he added, "Understand something, all right? Whatever Riker did, whatever he could do, whatever he tried or got away with and however he acted, that was him _,_ all right? He probably got himself here for lunch somewhere between 1200 and 1330 hours nearly every day, am I right?"

"You are."

"But that's not me. But, uh," his tone softened a little, "I get the feeling there's one more item on your list of _Things Keeping Martin Madden from Making Friends on the Enterprise-E_. Am I right? Care to share it with me if I am?"

"Yes," she admitted, "but maybe it's kind of a corollary. I think, see, if people knew there was someone out there who you cared about, well, I'm just saying, I think it would humanize you more to them. Then they'd give you a chance, and they would like you."

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Your wife – you should talk about her and pass around pictures and everything."

"Dana is not my wife. I am not married."

"Okay, technicality. Your girl, then."

"No, she is not my girl, and she never can be." He got up, more peeved, and more than a little bit hurt. "She is my second cousin. Federation statutes are pretty damned clear in this area. Second cousin relationships, just like first cousins, full and half siblings, parents or grandparents – all of that's expressly forbidden. These rules exist to curtail the number of potential child brides out there among our allies. I would think you would have known that."

"Right, but you're not a child, and I get the feeling this Dana isn't, either."

"No, but it doesn't matter. It's still incest."

Before she could answer him, he had stormed out.


	18. 18-Peering Below the Surface

**Chapter 18 – Peering Below the Surface**

It went on that way for a few days. The Black Sheep would practice, so would the Andorian MACO team, and Hobie would ask Mack out, repeatedly. She would politely yet firmly rebuff him, careful to never be completely alone with him.

It was the ninth of August, the night before the big game. It had been a rest day for the athletes on the _Cookie._ Mack was sitting in the garden, absently picking dead leaves off various plants. There was a communicator chime. She hit a key on her wrist unit. "Yeah?"

It was Majira. "I have examined all of the bench players, and all of the alternates. I have also examined all but one of the starters. Everyone who required any sort of treatment has already received it."

"Who's the holdout?" Mack asked.

"You are."

"Oh, I see," Mack sighed. "I'll be right there."

Sick Bay was clean and bright and very well-organized. There were two Derellian bats in adjoining cages, occasionally squawking at each other. Perhaps it was a primitive form of communication.

"Please sit down." Majira indicated an examination bed.

"I, uh, I don't wanna be fixed."

"I don't understand."

"Just, please," Mack looked ill, "it's evidence that it all happened."

"What happened to you, Dana?"

Mack looked around furtively, even though they were the only two sentient beings in Sick Bay. "I need full privacy, and full confidentiality. And I mean full _._ "

"Of course." Majira drew a curtain.

Mack stripped down to nothing and stood there. Majira looked at her and then began to walk around her, brandishing a medical scanner. "You have a healed fracture in your left leg; it's making your foot pronate. There are healed ligaments in your right shoulder. Then there is the matter of the scars and healed burns all over your breasts, including a missing left nipple."

"Yeah," Mack acknowledged.

"You were in prison for, what, twenty years?"

"Nineteen."

"Yes, and," Majira cast about for the right words to say, "There were atrocities committed on your person, am I right?"

Mack just nodded. "This proves it happened."

"I can take pictures," Majira offered, "and then you won't need to be so, so damaged any more. I will testify in any court of your choosing that you were hurt. Dana," she took Mack's hand briefly, "you do not have to live like this."

"I, I, but I do," Mack stated, "I need to look at it. I need to own it."

"What will you do if you wish to marry? I can't imagine any man or woman will want you to never, ever take off your top."

Mack reached for her sports bra and quickly put it back on. "I don't think I'll be marrying."

"Then a relationship, all right?" The Ikaaran watched as Mack put on the remainder of her clothes.

"I don't think I'll be in any sort of long-term stuff." Mack was sitting down, about to put on her socks. "I need to have this right now. If anyone, if anybody dares to love me, or at least to want to see me naked more than once, they, uh, they'll need to be able to take it."

"So this will be a litmus test? You will use your ordeal, and your scarring, to filter out the undesirables?" Majira's tone was not reproachful; it was more like pleading. "Will you use acceptance of your damage as a means of justifying someone's love for you?"

Mack concentrated on tying her sneaker laces. When she was done, she finally looked up. "I can't answer those questions, not yet at least. All I can tell you is that the Major has asked me out – repeatedly _._ I just; it's hard to know what to do, y'know?"

"Dinner, right?"

"Yeah, it's for dinner in his private mess."

"Dana, it doesn't have to be anything but dinner."

"I know. But, well," Mack sighed, "it's just, I haven't had a guy interested in me in the last twenty years who didn't also want something from me. This is why I've been putting him off. I want the game to be done with."

"Then will you accept his invitation?"

"I don't know," Mack admitted, looking away."

"Dana, I would like for you to do something for me."

"Hmm?"

"It doesn't have to be today, or even this year. But at some point, I want you to talk to me. Or someone, anyone _,_ really. Just, talk about what happened. Unburden yourself a bit. I think you'll find that it will help, more than if I were to erase your burns or better knit together the old fracture in your leg."

"I dunno."

"I will prepare a prescription for this talking cure. But there will be no time limit on filling it. You will just do as you wish, when you wish. But please, do not dismiss this out of hand. I am only suggesting this because, in the short time I have been working for you, I must tell you something."

"I'm listening."

"You inspire confidence _,_ Dana. There are other commanders who are, I am certain, better leaders or tacticians. They might be more versatile or have any of a number of other virtues. But you inspire loyalty _,_ too. I know I am not the only person who believes in you."

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll take care of yourself, and in all ways – physically, professionally, spiritually, emotionally. Just, your role is to, I feel, not only mentor but also make it so that the odds are more in favor of winning."

"Well, yeah."

"So I hope you will work to increase your own odds, Dana."

=/\=

"Listen up!" Hobie bellowed to his players. They skated over to where he was standing, just outside of the rink. "Tomorrow, I wanna see a clean game. No fighting _."_

"Major," said his goalie, "it's their player-coach, eh? You don't want anybody knocking her teeth out, I bet."

Hobie glared at him. "Just don't fight."

=/\=

Admiral Nechayev looked over the reports from the _Enterprise-E'_ s team. "This is most troubling," she murmured. She was alone in her office. "I'll need a face to face on this." She tapped out a message.

 _To all flag officers –_

 _There will be a general meeting, at Starbase 23, on the eleventh, at 0700 hours. In-person attendance is strongly preferred._

She marked the matter as _urgent_ and sent it along. "Good thing you're close by. This meeting will be a nice front. The only person I really want to see is you _."_

=/\=

"Mister Madden?"

"Yes, Captain?" They were on the Bridge, during regular shift, which was coming to its end.

"You seem a bit distracted. Care to discuss it in my Ready Room?"

"I'm all right, sir," Marty said, "it's nothing a little rest won't cure."

"Then by all means take your leave. Alpha shift is about over anyway. Oh, and Mister Madden?"

"Sir?"

"Would you care to join me and the doctor in Ten Forward, for supper this evening?"

"I, uh …." Marty blinked a few times, partly in surprise, and partly in fatigue.

Captain Picard peered more closely at his First Officer. "You do look tired. Perhaps another time. Dismissed."

Marty got into the turbolift and shook his head. Just as quickly as the dinner invitation had come, it had vanished. He sighed in frustration.

Back in his quarters, he requested an old menu program item, something called a Harvest Salad. He then punched up communications. "I'd like to speak to Dana MacKenzie, on the _Cookie_ _."_

"Connecting you now," replied the relayer.

Mack was walking to her quarters when she heard the chime. "Yeah?"

"Mystic, hey!"

"Oh my gosh, Marty! Hang on, I'll get to quarters and we can go visual."

"Sure, I'll wait." He could hear the thumping of her feet hitting the floor as she turned on the speed. There were then a few clicks, and he got a visual, of her a little sweaty and winded. "You did not have to run for me," he pointed out. "But I admit I'm a little pleased." He smiled, edges of his eyes crinkling a little bit. "Ready for the big game tomorrow?"

"I suppose so. We're as ready as we'll ever be. What's the news by you?"

"Nothing much. Captain invited me to dine with him and your engineer's mother."

"Oh?" She checked a wall chronometer. "So why aren't you there, Marty? Not that I don't like you calling or anything, y'know."

"Picard did a one-eighty and decided I was too beat so he rescinded the invite."

"Well, I'm sure he'll invite you again soon. Speaking of dinner invitations, I've gotten several."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, the head of the defense unit here, he's asked me out every night this week."

That made Marty sit up and take notice, fatigue forgotten. "What'd you say?"

"I've been putting him off. But I think I'll go tomorrow, after the game. I can't help but to feel maybe overly cautious, y'know?" she said, "But I figure I should just, I guess, get on that horse."

"Horse?"

"You know, where you get back on the horse that threw you."

"Right."

"Listen," she said, "I gotta go. I gotta be rested for tomorrow. I'll get it taped, like you asked." She smiled at him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just tired. Talk to you soon. Madden out." He cut the connection before she could respond. He sighed. "I can't catch a break, eh? Still, well, it's not like I own you, or could. I have no claims." He grabbed his PADD and clicked around, and interfaced it with his desktop unit. "Computer, pull up crew complement, _USS Talos_. Find all single women on board, ranked at Ensign level or higher. Show the list."

He scanned the list and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I would be okay with it, with you getting a fellow, and with being snubbed by most of the _Enterprise_ , if I wasn't so damned lonely."


	19. 19-High Sticking

**Chapter 19 – High Sticking**

"I'm glad you could all come, even if virtually," stated Admiral Nechayev. To her left was Admiral Harriet Caul, and to Harriet's left was Admiral Charles Whatley. On a split screen were Owen Paris, T'Lara, Kathryn Janeway and Jack Strickler, admirals all.

"Why such short notice?" asked Strickler.

"We've got an interesting development in the Denab System," stated Nechayev. She clicked and the split screen switched to a demonstration. It was a set of scans that Marty had taken. "We have chi spectrum radiation, on several band lengths. It's cycling, but it seems to be meant to look like just randomized background noise."

Whatley inquired, "I seem to recall that there are numerous applications for this. Who would be playing around with it?"

"Unknown," Nechayev replied.

"That masked cycling; it looks interesting," opined Janeway.

"Definitely some sort of intentional act," Paris concluded, "but to what end?"

"Any other kind of radiation," explained Strickler, "I imagine we'd be able to figure it all out pretty quickly. But this, I don't know. Is it a weapons test of some sort?"

"So far, we can't tell," Admiral Nechayev stated, "the _Enterprise_ is continuing to take scans and run the data through their computers."

"Do you think they are in any danger?" asked T'Lara.

"I wish I knew. So far, the matter is being treated as a confidential one. But if they need to go to a yellow alert, we'll end up with something like a thousand people who'll have an inkling of the issue, when they're not supposed to." They all looked at her, so she added, "Naturally, the safety of the crew of the _Enterprise_ supercedes our need for security and confidentiality."

"Well, let's hope," Whatley offered, "that it doesn't come down to that, or worse."

"Precisely," agreed Nechayev.

"How long have you known about this?" asked Strickler.

"A few weeks. I was waiting until we had more thorough scans prior to involving all of you. It's become a bit more concerning, as this has now been going on for a while."

"Is there any evidence that the cycling was occurring for any appreciable length of time before the _Enterprise_ began scanning?" asked Admiral Caul.

"They were unable to determine that, and I doubt anyone else could, either," admitted Admiral Nechayev. "It could have been nanoseconds before, or a week, or a century."

"The _Enterprise_ cannot stay there forever," declared Janeway. "How do you propose to handle things when the Federation flagship is called away to do something else?"

"There is the _Pathfinder_ project nearby; one of the engineers who performed the initials scans, a Lieutenant Reginald Barclay, is there. He could continue the scanning in the Denab System, and keep in contact with the three other crew members who have scanned the area," stated Nechayev.

"And they are?" inquired Strickler.

"Chief Engineer – Lieutenant Commander Geordi LaForge, an android referred to as B-4, and the First Officer, Commander Martin Madden," Nechayev read off her PADD. "The highest level of security belongs to Madden. Plus of course Captain Picard is aware of these activities."

"Right," agreed Whatley.

"A question, if I may," asked Strickler. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "Is this a major danger to not just the _Enterprise_ , but potentially the galaxy?"

"It is," Nechayev allowed, "unprecedented. We really don't know what we're dealing with here. I believe we should treat it as if it could be."

=/\=

The team breakfasted together in the ship's mess. To calm her nerves, Mack had even done some of the cooking, although Crita and Daniya had convinced her to not make the bulk of the meal. Instead, she had put together a mild Mexican frittata and Wes had helped scan it and program the replicators to simply duplicate what Mack had made by hand.

Everyone had eaten quietly; they were all rather jumpy. A pepper grinder falling to the floor made M'Belle cry out in alarm. The Caitian then collected herself. "My apologies. I'm just so nervous, and I'm not even playing."

"You will be, soon enough, I imagine," the Denobulan, Effenston, reminded her. "I wish we were on the ice right now, with the puck just dropped."

"Yeah, I wanna be doing it already," Mack commiserated. "This waiting around is gonna kill me, and we aren't even waiting around that much." She got up, as she could see that most of them were finished. "Let's head to the rink, assuming everyone's done. If you aren't, take another, uh, half an hour, as the rest of us get our gear together. Anyone not playing, you can linger if you want to."

Plates were tossed into the replicator for recycling, as was a small amount of untouched food. But at least they were all finished. Everyone, even the ones who had no chance of playing, gathering up their gear and headed over to the rink.

At the rink, they could see the MACO unit practicing, and watched for a few minutes. Mack then ordered her people to their locker room. As they filtered out, she called, "Hobie, you got a second?"

"Sure." He walked over to her. "'Sup?"

"That invitation still open?"

"Sure!" he enthused.

"Well, all right," she smiled at him and walked away as he watched.

Majira, nearby, had taken in the exchange. "I do believe," stated the Ikaaran, "you may have taken him out of his game."

"That's the idea."

Play began a few hours later. The puck dropped, and Effenston immediately got control of it. Taking the MACO team by surprise, he and Xo passed the puck deftly between them a few times as the other skaters struggled to keep up. They passed to the Andorian, Trechek, and he was able to score.

As the athletes celebrated a little bit, Mack tugged on Effenston's sleeve. "Don't get cocky," she cautioned.

"Right, Coach."

Play resumed, with a great deal of puck passing on both sides. A burly fellow from the MACO team came over and smacked his stick into Grosk's left knee pad. The big Imvari let out a yelp and fell to the ice in pain. The amateur referees called a halt to play as Mack held Xo back and Majira rushed onto the ice.

She placed a hand on his knee, and there was a bit of a glow, but it was dim and incoherent. It ping-ponged around her body, failing to find a comparable organ in her. She looked up and shook her head. She would not be able to heal him without the instruments in her Sick Bay.

Mack cornered one of the referees. "I need to contact one of my people; there's a Caitian gal who isn't playing." M'Belle was found, and brought over. "Take Crita and make sure you get him back to the ship. I'm sure there are soldiers here who aren't playing, who could carry a stretcher."

Majira added, "You can give him a hypo of tri-ox. Grosk," she said to him, "do you need for me to go with you?"

"No," he said, "it is all right. Help the team; you are needed." He was carried out, the two furry women trailing behind the stretcher.

"Cilla," Mack said to a Klingon woman, "you'll fill in." Cilla nodded and stepped onto the ice.

"Three-minute penalty," announced one of the referees. The burly goon from the MACO team was escorted to the penalty box. Play resumed.

This time, the MACO team shot on the Black Sheep team's goal, and Tag could not stop them. Mack looked up for a second, and caught Hobie's eye. He winked at her. She looked back down at her stick and skates, realizing that he was giving as well as he was getting, and was trying to take her out of the game.

=/\=

"Mister Madden?"

"Captain?"

"Contact B-4 and Mister LaForge. Have them meet us in the Conference Room behind the main Bridge. Get Mister Barclay patched in on a secure line."

"Right away, sir."

=/\=

The Admiral's meeting was already over. A lone figure lingered. "Harriet," Admiral Nechayev said, "glad you were able to make it."

"But of course," responded Caul. "I have been reading your reports on the … phenomenon … with interest. Tell me, what do you make of it?"

Alynna Nechayev thought for a moment. "I am concerned. This is most disturbing. Is the Section – or anyone else, for that matter – doing anything to provoke this activity?"

Now it was Caul's turn to ponder. "It's not necessarily our own activity. We have, currently, a few projects going on. I will provide you with two sets of coordinates. The _Enterprise_ should investigate, and search for similar phenomena in both areas."

"Oh? What shall be the pretext for going there, for the thousand or so other crew members? Stellar Cartography?"

"That won't work," Caul stated, "but one reason could be a check on the Augments in the Ceti Alpha System."

"So it's the area that used to be the Delphic Expanse."

"As for the other," Caul suggested, "it can be framed as a good faith diplomatic mission to the Kreetassan home world."

"What do you really feel is going on, Harriet?"

"I honestly do not know. That's not just Section speak – it's honest ignorance. But both areas have had, let's just say, issues. Now they're having them again."

"That's not too terribly encouraging," stated Nechayev.

=/\=

"I am hoping," Picard began, "to be able to leave this sector soon."

"Oh?" asked LaForge, "did we get all the scans that the Admiral wanted?"

"I believe so. Furthermore, the phenomenon does not appear to have appreciably changed."

"Sir," Marty inquired, "how long do you suppose it's been like this?"

"I cannot say. We've never been to the Denab System before now. If there was any activity occurring before our investigations started, well, how could we ever hope to know?"

"True," Madden conceded. Barclay nodded.

There was a communications chime, and the captain answered it. "Picard here."

It was Admiral Nechayev. "I have two locations where your team will need to perform identical scans. Mister Barclay should continue to monitor the Denab System, but you will be leaving that sector."

"Understood," replied Barclay.

"Mister Barclay," the admiral continued, "I'll need for you to drop off this call."

"Yes." He broke the connection from his end. The admiral acknowledged his obedience with a quick nod.

"I am glad to be moving," the captain stated, "in fact, we were just speculating on our next moves."

"We have observed two other locations where there has been what can best be referred to as spatial distortions. Your Lieutenant Commander LaForge should know one of these areas quite well."

"Yes!" Geordi snapped his fingers excitedly. "It was maybe thirteen years ago. Wesley Crusher and I were taking a shuttle from the Kreetassan home world. We ended up in 1941 for a few days there." _Rosemary Parker._ For just a second, he remembered her, and the thought made him smile fondly.

"There were two sets of coordinates mentioned," B-4 prompted, "what is the second location?"

"The Ceti Alpha System," reported the admiral.

"So it's where Khan Noonien Singh's people were," Marty recalled from his history lessons. "Are there any of their descendants left, I wonder?"

"That is not outside the realm of possibility," the admiral allowed. "One of the issues with the Augments was their desire for privacy after the Singh affair. It was decided to allow that, so long as no aggressive moves were made. None were so made; therefore, the Augments were left alone, and there have not been any communications with them in decades."

"However," Picard interjected, "if these variant radiation bands are their doing, then what are we to make of that? Do we frame it as peaceful scientific inquiry? Or do we see it as an aggressive act or acts, and a gearing up towards, perhaps, war?"

"That is one of the things we would like for you to help determine, Captain," explained the admiral. "Further, it would be best if you could determine whether anything occurring at either of these two other sets of coordinates is at all related to the activities logged at the Denab System."

"Right," agreed the captain.

"The confidentiality level of this matter is now stricter," reported Admiral Nechayev. "That is why I had Barclay drop off this call. It is now at the highly confidential level. Therefore, pretexts have been developed for your visits to both sets of coordinates. For the visit to the Kreetassan home world, a trade agreement has been drafted. It is lengthy and it is complicated, but it is also very much the real thing. Captain, you will be in on the trade negotiations while Mister Madden, B-4 and Mister LaForge are conducting their scans."

"The other pretext?" asked the captain.

"Every cubic centimeter of what was once the Delphic Expanse retains the effects of the aftershocks of spatial anomalies. Your Stellar Cartography team will want to work on the changes made in the sector – be they by Augments, or anyone else, or just natural phenomena – as mapping the remnants of the anomaly fields is an important safety measure," she declared.

"What about the Augments?" Marty asked."

"You can also," the admiral seemed to be improvising a bit, "spend time investigating whether there are any left. Nechayev out."

They all looked at each other. "This keeps getting more and more complicated," Marty stated.

"Yes," agreed the captain, "and there seems to be no end in sight. We'll begin with the agreement with the Kreetassans. In the meantime, Mister Madden, I should like for you to research the Augments. Pick up any scrap you can on them. I suspect that there, indeed, are successor Augments. As for whether they are causing any of these radiation band cyclings; that much is harder to determine. I'd like to keep an open mind. However, at the same time, I can't just dismiss it all as some freakish coincidence. It seems far too close for that."

"Agreed," stated LaForge, "anything you need me and B-4 to do in the meantime?"

"Continue reviewing the scans," the captain commanded, "I do not want any surprises. Dismissed."

=/\=

As play continued, Mack could see her team was tiring. She called for time. "We've got a little over two minutes left in regulation play. Unless things get really lively soon, I hate to say it, but I think we might not win this one."

"Aren't you supposed to be encouraging us, Coach?" asked Tag.

"I won't lie to you, Shaw. You're all doing really well. I'm really proud of everyone here. A good outcome is nice. But it's okay that it's not a perfect outcome. I really am all right with this, and I hope you are, too. Now," she took a breath, "let's play these last two minutes as well as we've ever played. Go Black Sheep!"

T'Val, a Vulcan, managed to get control of the puck early. The goon, who was on the ice again, tripped her. She got herself up, and he tripped her again. This time, Xo knocked him over, and they began scuffling as the amateur referees blew their whistles loudly.

By the time the fight was done, less than half a minute remained in regulation. Down a player – for there were penalties called on both sides – Mack had Tag leave the crease in order to help with offence.

Mack found herself facing another big MACO. "Get outta my way, girlie," he threatened.

Mack narrowed her eyes. "Let's dance, baby, and I'll show you my … moves."

He licked his lips and leered at her. "I can go all night."

"You better watch your high sticking," she replied.

He came closer, to try to trip her, like the goon had done with T'Val. He leaned his shoulder into hers, hard, and shoved her against the boards. Whacking the puck with her stick, Mack accidentally hit him, and the referees blew their whistles again.

There were only about twenty seconds left in regulation, and they were still down a goal. She entered the penalty box. Majira was behind, and leaned over her, putting a hand on Mack's shoulder. A glow emanated, traveling from shoulder to hand and back again. "Thanks," Mack whispered.

A buzzer sounded, and play ended. As Mack had expected, they had lost their first game.

The teams lines up to shake hands, with Mack at the end of her line and Hobie at the back of his. When they met for a handshake, he murmured to her quietly, "I'll see you later."

She just nodded, and went to the team's locker room. Engaging her communicator, she said, "MacKenzie to M'Belle, How's Grosk?"

"Well enough," replied the Caitian. "How did we do?"

"We lost. But no matter." She caught the Ikaaran's eye. "I'll have Majira go to the ship and see to Grosk. MacKenzie out."

She turned to her team. It was coed as they dressed – it was just faster and easier. "I think you were all terrific. Sometimes, you just don't score enough points, or you can't keep the other team from scoring, no matter what you do. Or penalties or injuries go against you. But this team played with a great deal of heart. We've only just begun, and I am immensely proud of all of you – even those who didn't play. Good going, team."


	20. 20-Staying

**Chapter 20 – Staying**

The team headed over to where the dinner was to be held, all wearing clean Black Sheep jerseys. "I really like how the logo turned out," Mack stated.

"Yeah, Crita's really good," Wes agreed, walking in step with her. "Did you see, over by the running track, she's starting a mural? It's going to be the Grand Canyon."

"I have not," Mack admitted. "After I've been practicing lately, I've just been crawling into bed. No running for me, sad to say. Did you get the tape of the game?"

"I did," he patted his PADD, in a zippered pocket.

"Good; we'll go over it in the next few days, I'm thinking."

Tag came over. "Coach, do you think this'll go too late?" He yawned.

"Hanging around isn't mandatory," she declared. "Just grab your grub and head to your bunk, if you want to. I am sure our hosts realize that we're all really tired."

The MACO Unit's mess was garlanded, and Mack realized that some of the decorations were likely leftover from Christmas. She smiled to herself as she entered the large hall.

There were large chafing dishes out, and stacks of plates, buffet style. The galley cook and his helpers flitted around, heading from plate stack to chafing dish to napkin arrangement to fruit bowl and around and around, making sure that everything was perfect.

She sensed, rather than heard, a presence behind her. "Dana?"

She wheeled around, perhaps a little too quickly. Hobie was wearing civilian clothes, a collared shirt and dress pants. He smiled at her. "Will you, uh, will you join me?" He swallowed, and she realized he was actually nervous.

"Sure. Lead the way."

Hobie's private mess had a table set for two with a small chicken dinner with sides, already on the table. There was a bottle of white wine chilling on ice. "I didn't know if you indulged in alcohol," he said, "so I've got soft drinks and sparkling water in the refrigeration unit, if you'd prefer those."

"Maybe later. This is fine, uh, Hobie." She laughed a little. "Nobody's got a real name anymore."

"I know you don't. It's M-something or other."

"How do you know that?"

"The contract you signed with us, it's signed M. Dana MacKenzie. Mary?"

She shook her head. "Don't bother guessing. You're, uh E-something, right?"

"Major Emmet Kent Hoberman," he admitted. "If you're gonna use any of that, go with Kent."

"Kent?"

"I got called Emmy way too many times as a kid."

"Got it."

"I, uh," his palms were sweating. He took out a handkerchief, and dabbed furiously at his hands. "Dammit."

"What's a matter?"

"I'm just, uh …."

"Kent," she asked, "why are you so nervous?"

He paused before responding to her. "I, um, I want this to go well."

"It's going just fine."

"I just," he stammered, "I really like you. I dunno as I ever saw too many women as committed to sports as you. You've been committed like that for a while."

"If you've been reading up on my own personal history, then you've undoubtedly stumbled across my nearly two-decade Canamar vacation. The only sports I had in there were the ones in my head, my memory and my imagination."

"Yeah, Dana, I did read all that, or at least what was out there, on news wires and all that sorta stuff. You've been through a lot, I bet." He shifted from foot to foot.

"Now you're making me nervous."

"Uh, sorry."

"I thought guys like you were always married, or something."

"Divorced," he admitted.

"Kids?" he nodded and looked down. "You don't need to tell me details," she told him, "it's okay."

He held a hand out. "I'm really lousy at this."

"Yeah, me, too. I'm really outta practice." She took his hand.

"Practice?"

"It's not exactly an ice cream social in Canamar."

"Right," he sighed. "Dinner?"

"Sure."

They ate quietly, but held hands throughout most of the meal. When they were finished, they both stood up. "Uh, thanks," Mack ventured. "This was nice."

He came closer. "I, um, can you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Stay."

=/\=

Martin Madden heard a ding on his PADD, and checked messages surreptitiously while at his station on the Bridge. Picard just nodded; despite the wrong foot they'd initially gotten off on, the man didn't seem to mind, if such distractions were brief.

It was a note from Wesley Crusher, and it was addressed to both Marty and the ship's doctor.

 _We lost our first game, 3 – 1, but we had a really good time. Enclosed is the tape of the game that was made. We'll be on Andoria for a few more days. This job is already incredibly interesting. I really love it! – Wes_

Marty tapped out a quick thank you note and sent it, and then wondered why he had not yet heard from his cousin. He tapped out one more quick message as Picard eyed him, looking for the man to hurry it up and return his fullest attentions to his duties.

"Almost done, Captain. Sorry for the delay, sir."

 _Mystic,_

 _Crusher tells me the first game didn't have the best outcome. But he says he had fun. Did you? He sent me the tape, too. I guess I'll see for myself when I watch it tonight._

 _Let me know how you are. I miss our talks._

 _Go easy, The Straight Arrow_

=/\=

"Stay?"

"Yeah," Hobie confirmed it. "You know, as in not leave for a while." He leaned over and kissed her, and she kissed back.

"It's, um, it's been, wow, it's probably better if I don't think about how long it's been," she stammered.

"Got it."

His quarters were near his private mess. They were Spartan, but with a pennant from Proteus University on the wall in the living room. "When did you graduate?"

"Oh, uh, 2366." Thirteen years before.

"So you're in your thirties."

"Yes," Hobie confirmed.

"I'm fifty years old," Mack admitted.

"I know. Your records with the Titan Bluebirds confirm that."

"So you knew that before you started to ask me out, like, a half a dozen times?"

"Exactly. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Just don't expect me to, um," she thought for a moment, "I also just played almost an entire hockey game. I might not have the, uh, stamina you're used to."

"Don't worry about it. Really _._ " He began to try to touch her breasts, and she batted his hands back. "Huh?"

"Not there. Please _,_ " she looked at him, her eyes a bit widened. "Anywhere but there."

"Uh, okay. I just, um," he looked in her eyes, "you're not gonna tell me why, and I'd better not ask you, right?"

"Exactly."

"Sorry," Hobie said softly. "Anywhere else?"

"Yeah." She guided his hand so that it would rest between her legs.

They moved into his bedroom, where there was a rather prominent picture of two little girls in pink dresses. "My, uh, kids." He turned the picture to face the wall.

Kissing, they began to strip down. While she let him take off her Black Sheep jersey, she drew the line at the bra tank top she was wearing under it. He could see that she was uneven there. "Dana?"

"Hmm?"

"I won't ask. But, uh, if you ever wanna tell me anything, um, go ahead."

"Thanks."

Back to kissing, and soon enough, he was licking and kissing her body, everywhere but her breasts, moving with abandon and pressing further down and in, feeling and tasting her as she climaxed. "You ready?" he whispered in her ear hoarsely. She just nodded, fast and clumsy movements. He got on top, and they started to move together, hard and fast. Kissing her, he climaxed fairly quickly, and then collapsed atop her.

Smiling, he raised himself on his elbows a bit and looked down at her, and kissed her. "Is, um, can I do anything for you?" In response, her lower jaw trembled, and then she started to cry.

=/\=

Alone in his quarters, Marty clicked a little on his PADD. "Computer, play tape of Black Sheep game. Take dictation."

 _Acknowledged, and working._

The tape played, and he watched for her. After a hard hit, he called for a rewind, watching it more closely. "Add note here."

 _Ready._

"I saw our man get hit at, uh, about 5:33 in. I think we were lucky on the call. I gotta say; it looks like he was taunting."

As the game continued to play, Marty continued dissecting it, providing the best post mortem he possibly could, even as he pondered why she remained incommunicado.

=/\=

"Oh, my God!" Hobie sprang off Mack. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Oh, God! Should I get you a medic?"

She groped around until she found his hand. "No, no," she gasped, swallowing air as she could, for she was still weeping. "It's, it's okay."

"It is not okay!" Hobie began to panic, running his fingers through his hair. "I, God! Dana! Dana! What's wrong?"

In response, she just wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as she continued to gasp. "I, I, I …."

"Shh, shh," he attempted to be soothing. "Are, uh, is it anything physical?"

"No," she shook her head, tears still streaming down her face.

"Listen, I, I, I know we don't know each other that well. Or, at all, really. And, and maybe going this far, this fast, was a mistake. But I, uh, I do mean it. You can talk to me. God knows Sandy never did. So, uh, so, I, um, I'm not sick of it, know what I mean?"

Mack just nodded, still weeping. She clutched at him, hugging him tighter. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Shh, shh, shh, you're, you're safe here."

They held each other for a while. Finally, Mack pulled back. "I, God, I'm such a mess."

"It's, it's okay."

"No, it's not. I just had a cosmic freak-out. Kent," she looked him in the eye, "that's the first time since, crap, maybe 22 years ago that I did that with, uh, with me wanting to do it."

"Got it." He petted her hair. "You don't have to tell me anymore unless you want to. I, I totally get it." He kissed her hair. "That's the first time I did that since Sandy left me. She took everything. I don't care about the things. Just the, the girls."

"Yeah."

He grabbed his PADD from his night stand and thumbed around until he found pictures. "That's Katie. She's the older one. She's almost four now. Nichole is eighteen months, uh, here's a picture of Nichole."

"So all of this happened recently, your wife leaving you, Kent."

"Yeah. I, um, I, Dana, I don't normally go to bed with women so quickly. You can tell I don't exactly have the smoothest moves out there. But, um, please don't get dressed and please don't leave, okay? 'Cause I, uh, nobody's stayed here in, God, she left before Nichole was even born. I swear I won't touch anything or do anything that you don't wanna do. I just, I want your company. I hope you want mine a little, too."

"I do, Kent."

For the remainder of that night, as Martin Madden wondered if his second cousin was all right, she was. She just wasn't with him.


	21. 21-Farewells

**Chapter 21 – Farewells**

They had been together for a few days, attending the fair and a small reception as well. Hobie had acted the part of an attentive and romantic boyfriend or at least escort, dancing with Mack, pulling out chairs for her and standing in her presence.

Mack had reciprocated by dutifully laughing at his jokes, dressing up for him and spending as much time with him as possible, turning off her PADD entirely.

As for sex, it was not out of the question, and they found that, as they got to know one another a bit better, the experience improved. She didn't cry again afterwards, and he had better staying power. And, as she had insisted, he kept his hands off her breasts. Whatever trauma had occurred, and however she had come to be uneven, he wasn't sure he wanted to know just yet.

On the morning of their fourth day together, Hobie got up first and checked messages. At the top of the list, in flashing red, there was an urgent one. "Damn," he muttered, reading the message to himself.

"What is it?" Dana asked.

"Oh, we've got maneuvers. Andorian ambassador's heading to Klingon space. They want a fleet escort and some extra guards – that's us."

"Right."

"I gotta be a part of this. I never let the guys do anything I wouldn't do, myself. So I'll be deployed, too."

"I should check messages, too," Mack agreed. She turned to her PADD for the first time in days, and there were a ton of fast-moving flashes. "I guess I got a few messages," she commented sheepishly. She began thumbing through them. Five of them were from Marty; she'd open them later, in private. There were a few from Majira, mainly reporting on Grosk's condition but also asking whether Mack herself required any medical care. Wesley reported on his findings – he had been continuing to check the Cookie's engine and other systems during the overall furlough. Crita had sent a few images of her painting of the Grand Canyon as it progressed.

Daniya just sent one message, which made Mack laugh. _Well, how is he?_ She didn't answer that one.

There were two other messages – one was from a promoter on Tellar, the other from a freighter captain.

"I, uh," she said as she read her mail, "it looks like there's interest in having the team come and play elsewhere. It, uh, the game here really helped. Looks like it's getting everything off the ground."

"Yeah." His tone was one of some disappointment.

"Not just that. You, you helped, Kent," She kissed him. "You did."

"I'll miss you," he confessed. "I, I don't miss Sandy, not anymore. I miss the girls, of course. But, uh, you helped me, too. It, um, it wasn't just about, uh, about getting laid."

"Thanks. And, well, same here." They kissed.

"The, um, the long distance thing. I can't pretend that it's easy," he mumbled.

"I guess I'll have to start worrying about you, Kent."

"I'll start worrying about you, too, Dana."

"I better, um, I better tell my team we'll be shipping out soon."

"I gotta make the same speech to my men. You'll win the next one, y'know."

"Maybe. There are no guarantees, Kent."

"It's not a guarantee. It's just, I got a feeling."

=/\=

On the _Enterprise_ , they finally left the Denab System, bound for the Kreetassan System.

Marty stood in the Observation Lounge, alone. The doors swished open. It was B-4. "Did you wish to be alone?" inquired the android.

"I'm alone a lot," Marty admitted, "so it's fine. What's up?"

"There are, it would seem, several possibilities regarding the phenomenon we have been studying."

"Well, yes."

"That may mask a great deal of cleverness, for a conclusion is not so easy to draw, in this instance."

"I think that's a perceptive observation," Marty complimented B-4.

"This phenomenon, it would seem," the android opined, "is masking a wealth of possibilities."

"What have we got so far?" Marty asked rhetorically. "Augments, maybe. The Kreetassans, maybe. The Mirror Universe, maybe. Or some other universe, I dunno. It might be a harbinger of an invasion, or just somebody wants to say hi. Or maybe someone's scientifically curious. Who knows?"

His PADD dinged. "'Scuse me a second." He grinned as soon as he saw the note from Mack. "I, uh …."

"By all means," replied the android, which departed.

Marty clicked open the note.

 _Straight Arrow,_

 _Sorry I haven't written. My date kind of stretched out for a while there. Now he's talking long distance, and I just don't know. I'm mulling it over._

 _In other news, we have two other prospects. A human freighter captain contacted me about flag football. A Tellarite sent a note about playing a game of theirs called Kreesta. It sounds like a girl's name, eh? But it's really more like a cross between competitive eating and table tennis. At least that's what I'm gathering from reading up on it a little._

 _Life is nutty and busy, and I got caught up in everything. But I kept you really waiting there, and I'm sorry about that. It was, well, let's just say I still have issues. So does this guy. We all do, I guess. But he doesn't deserve to get saddled with my issues, too, I think._

 _Anyway, we're going to Tellar. It would be great to see you, but I know that's not always so possible. Let's talk tonight, okay?_

 _Go easy,_

 _The Black Sheep_

=/\=

"I'll contact you as often as I can," Hobie promised. He was on the _Cookie_ _,_ near the gangway. Everyone on the team was already aboard, and ready to go. The little Gorn ship was ready to lift off, out of Bay #15.

"I'll write back," Mack replied. "I, um, I dunno about this, uh," she gestured, her hand motion filling the air between them.

"I dunno either. We'll play it by ear, okay? I got, um, I got damage, Dana. I know you do, too. I dunno if, if our damage, if it'll all really work together. Know what I'm sayin'? But I don't wanna give up, not just yet." He kissed her.

"You take care of yourself," she told him. "I need for you to not get shot, y'know?"

"I kinda need that, too," he smiled. "I need for you to not get checked into the boards too hard."

"You mean like your goon did?" She pretended to be angry about that, but her eyes were dancing.

"Hey, you ended up in penalty, too, y'know." He went back to being serious. "I mean it. I'd hate to see you get hurt, Dana."

"It's all part of it. Which I guess is a part of soldiering, too." She sighed. "You got a lot more that can happen to you than I can. Please be careful."

"You got it." They kissed again.

"I better go," Mack decided. "I wish, eh, I wish a lotta things. Keep in touch."

"You better believe I will."

Another kiss and she was gone.

The trip was a bit of a letdown for Mack. Once they were off-duty, Daniya cornered her. "Well _?_ "

"Well, what?"

"How was, you know?"

"It was good," Mack said quickly, hustling herself to quarters.

=/\=

"Hey! How are you doing?" Marty enthused as visual communications came up.

"I, um, I'm okay," Mack's tone was subdued.

"You look down, Mystic. Is it that fellow?"

"Yeah. I don't, y'know, I'm not so sure I wanna get attached at all. But I guess I am, at least a little bit. What about you _?_ "

"Me?"

"C'mon, there's gotta be someone on the _Enterprise_ you can romance, Cuz."

"No, it's, um, it's my position," Marty told a half-truth. "I got a list of, uh, possibles who are still on the _Talos._ I can't bear to bring myself to contact any of them, though."

"Oh? I gotta say, the idea of a candidate list is a little wacky."

"Hmm. Maybe you're right."

"But seriously," Mack asked, "why haven't you called any of 'em? I mean, don't tell me you're afraid of rejection, because you're every shade of amazing I know. You are smart, you're kind, and you are good company, and you're really good-looking, too, y'know."

"Huh, well, thanks," he replied, "but it's, well, I shouldn't get into it."

"Marty," she peered more closely at the screen, "I never hear you talking about anyone. You're too much on time and available. I just, well, I don't honestly think I'm all that entertaining."

"Oh, c'mon, you're very entertaining."

"That's not really what I was commenting on, and I think you know that. You're alone, right? You're brooding, I think."

"Mystic, until you met this guy, I think you were just about as much of a loner as I am right about now."

"Touché. Seriously, though, I want you to be okay."

"I am. Don't fret. Really, I am okay," Marty replied, hiding a bit of how he was really feeling. "I think you are, too."

"Yeah, I'm, I'm a bit okay, too."

=/\=

And over at Archer's World, which was located in a part of what had once been known as the Delphic Expanse, and was quite a distance away from the Ceti Alpha system, another bit of pulsing, changing and cycling radiation band shifting started up.

 _Ping._


End file.
